


Black Wings in the Cold

by Valpur



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A lot of characters from both games will make an appearance, Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Dark Brotherhood!Hanzo, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Human!zenyatta, M/M, POV Multiple, Porn with Feelings, Skyrim!AU, Smut, The burn is so slow but I swear it's there, background genyatta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 184,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: Hanzo Shimada was not native of Skyrim, and he’d always cared little about its folklore or religion. Still, he knew stories.Legends.But in his almost thirty years of existence he’d always thought them nothing more than this – legends.Only now, from the bottom of the most humiliating moment of his life, he saw the truth.Monsters were real. And they had snakelike necks, whips for tails, and massive, impossibly so bodies shining with scales of obsidian.[Art inside]





	1. Gein

_Morndas,17th of First Seed, 4E201_

 

Cold. So cold – dry and sharp on his skin, burning in his joints.  
  
A dull pain. Head, hands, bones turned into splinters. Something rough and musty-smelling scratched his face.  
  
Was he moving? Who moved him? Why was earth wincing beneath him?  
  
_Where am I?_  
  
Consciousness slowly flickered back in Hanzo’s head. Frowning, he tried to swallow, but his tongue felt so swollen, his lips so dry they cracked and bled. A low moan escaped his throat as a new set of unexpected sores added up to the already known ones. As he weakly squirmed on the damp boards rattling under his body, he felt his wrists hurt, his hands sting with countless needles over the numbness.

“Hey, fucking grayface, wake up”, snarled someone from above him. Something that felt very much like a boot hit him square in the ribs, and Hanzo flinched from the blooming pain embracing his chest. The kick made him roll on his back, and eventually a shaky breath bubbled from his throat, sending ripples of suffering in his bones.

“Let him be”, said a different voice, deep and angry. “Can’t you see he’s wounded?”

“Aye, and he’s a bloody Dunmer too. If I’m to die, I’d rather it didn’t happen by such scum’s side”.

“So yer tryina impress your boss there? And by kicking a bound, unharmed stranger? I’m stunned. Your dick must be exceptionally small, my friend…”

The boards creaked under a sudden movement; Hanzo couldn’t avoid being beaten once more, and he grunted when the same boot stomped on his chest.

“Ain’t you a Nord, too? How dare you take the side of an intruder? Are you some kind of Imperial spy, eh, you filth?”

“Nah, man, just a poor soul going to the gallows like the rest of us. But I see yer still overcompensatin’ your scarce endowment by…”

“You bastard…”

“Hey! Silence back there, prisoners!” shouted a third man; sharp knocks on the side of the cart smothered the quarrel to a rancorous growling, and soon everything went quiet again – as quiet as it could be, with the wheels squeaking and the horses snorting softly.

After a while, a warm hand squeezed Hanzo’s shoulder. In a different situation he would have shrunk back and prepared to counterattack, but he was dizzy from the cold and what felt much like a full body trauma, so he barely managed to pry his eyes open. In front of him, the dazzling white of the winter sky darkened when a blurred shape leaning above him.

“Man, you’ll better wake up for real. You’re freezing to death…”

Hanzo blinked confusion away, and all in all it proved to be the worst idea of his day – no big challenge, since for all he could remember he’d been lying down in that strange cart for hours now. His face felt weird, both throbbing with suffering and numb, and when he trudged to prop himself up on his elbows he grimaced. Blood in his mouth, icy copper melting on the tip of his tongue.

The first thing he could focus on were _feet_. Three – no, _four_ pairs of feet, three clad in boots going from worn out to ridiculously fancy, one bare, calloused and dirty. Hanzo grunted and sat up, brushing his bruised face with his forearm. When he opened his eyes again he could finally see clearly, and faces gained definition in front of him. A ragged man, shaking, pale lips retracted on chattering teeth; at his right a tall, blond Nord, with an unpleasant smirk on his lips. Hanzo had no doubt he’d been the one who kicked him, and took mental note to make him pay for it. Such note, though, vanished like a burned scrap of parchment when he turned to the other man on the bench.

He knew him. By Sithis, all of Skyrim knew him, probably most of Tamriel, too. He’d have recognized that strong nose and icy dark eyes everywhere, and especially the sheer disgust that lingered in their depths as they rested a moment too long on his features.  
  
Ulfric Stormcloak, even bound and gagged, radiated the aura of authority of a king, and no amount of chains could erase the austere look on his face.

Hanzo growled from the bottom of his throat, weak and confused but ready to fight that very moment, if needed. His field of sight turned black at the corners as his eyes focused on the Jarl, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

“So, how are you, darlin’? I thought you were dead”, said that same warm voice behind him. Hanzo, with a shot of pain in his neck, turned to face a tall, scruffy man with an unseemly bright smile. Tall and stocky as a Nord, his skin was darker, his hair a messy mane around his face and his left arm only a floppy bundle of fabric from the elbow down.

“Mph”, he replied. Hanzo was the only one sitting on the bottom of the cart, and over the shoulders of his unwilling companions he saw several Imperial heads bobbing with their horses’ movements. Scowling at his own undignified position, he tried to sit up straight, and the shackles around his wrists jingled. The flesh under the irons was swollen, the skin going from its usual rich grey to a dark, angry purple where open sores glimmered under the snowy sky. He flexed his whitened fingers once, ignoring the burning sting of pain from the chilblains, and after a few more motions blood flowed again in his extremities.

“How are you, sunshine?” the tall man asked again; the blond Nord on the other bench rolled his eyes, but at one of the guards’ warning stare kept his mouth shut.

“Where am I?” Hanzo’s voice sounded like the cawing of one of the countless crows following the cart. A bad omen, and yet an oddly appropriate one.

“Well, in trouble”, chuckled the bearded guy. That obnoxious grin wouldn’t leave his lips. “I got caught stealin’ some shiny stuff from a merchant, and you…”

The sentence faded into a question, and Hanzo hunched his shoulders.

Waves of memories washed upon his brain. His last contract from the Night Mother had him hesitate: he hadn’t delivered the fatal blow, too shocked to care about the Dark Brotherhood. Years on the run – from his past and his dishonor – until the call of the Dread Lord had rung  in his heart once more. But when he’d found his way back home, of the Sanctuary only smoking ruins were left, telling a tale of treason and death upon those who thrived in murder. A slice of life as a wanted renegade, ended with an ambush from the Penitus Oculatus.

And now here he was.

“Murder”, he growled in reply, staring at his dirty, pale hands. It was true, after all: a clumsy assassination, a long time ago, was what had set up his path to this unfortunate situation. He didn’t care about the stranger looking at him enough to articulate.

 “Shoot, serious stuff”, said the man, and Hanzo couldn’t miss the killer stare he shot to the other prisoners, as if daring them to speak again. The blond Stormcloak snorted and cocked his eyebrows with a sour smirk. “I’m Jesse, by the way. And I’d shake your hand, but, y’know…” He lifted his stump and pointed at Hanzo’s irons with a smirk. The only hand left looked unusually soft for someone with the figure of a warrior.

Hanzo snorted, trying in vain to remove a filthy strand of hair from his face, and openly turned his back to Ulfric. This meant looking straight at the stranger’s face – only, he wasn’t a stranger anymore. Jesse sat with his long legs spread and his heat tilted to the side, one dark eyebrow cocked in polite curiosity. He looked oddly at ease, if compared to the shaking, pale beggar at his side or the two silently fuming Stormcloaks in front of him.

“Since you were so ready to answer my first question – an answer I could’ve guessed on my own, I suppose – is there any chance to know where we are going?” Sarcasm veined Hanzo’s tone, and he did nothing to hide it.

He needed time. Woods, black and white with pines and snow, with the occasional blood-red splash of snowberries, flowed around them. With some luck (with an awful, unlikely lot of luck, he told himself with a bitter sneer) he could have jumped from the cart: there were guards, of course, but they weren’t that many. Heavy armored, they would’ve stood no chance against his agility and speed, and all he needed was to make it to the outskirts of the forest. Then shadows would have swallowed him.

The plan seemed dumber with every step he contemplated, and Jesse squinted at him.

“Helgen”, he said in a deep whisper, his eyes still locked with Hanzo’s. “There’s an Imperial outpost there, and these folks seemed all too eager to dispense some justice”. He rolled his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his worn-out leather tunic.

Hanzo only half heard him. There had to be another way out… hadn’t he been so weak and dizzy from the cold he could’ve just snatched the sword of the soldier driving the cart. With a weapon and a bit of magic, no one could’ve stopped him.

“Interesting. Helgen, then, and after that…”

Jesse frowned and leaned forward until he was inches from Hanzo. Heat radiated from his body, and where Hanzo had expected the well-known stench of a fugitive – sweat, fear, despair – only the sharp edge of leather and metal reached his nose.

“Are you kiddin’ me, darlin’?”

Ice creaked in his voice. He threw his hair back and bared his teeth, now fully focused on his disgraced companion.

“Do I look like someone who’s trying to be fun?”

“… and after that, block and axe, that’s all for us! Were you really expectin’ anything else?”

Hanzo blinked, and any idea of escaping vanished from his head.

Death awaited them all, and he should have known. Not that he thought he deserved anything better, but going into the Void like this? Tied like a head of cattle brought to the slaughterhouse – true, he didn’t deserve pity, forgiveness or a second chance, but he’d been naïve enough to wish for something different.

And instead here he was, waiting to be sentenced for a long list of crimes his captors had no clue about. A former member of the Dark Brotherhood, even if the black hand on his chest was long gone, scratched off with a blade to cut the last of his ties with his worst mistake, ready to die with some unlucky bastard _and_ the Jarl of Windhelm.

A paradox, if he’d ever saw one, and the absurdity of the situation snapped something inside him.

It started out with a gasp, a sharp intake of breath that made his freezing limbs shudder. Then laughter bubbled up in his dry throat, a giggle and then a chuckling he couldn’t control; it rasped on his tongue and brought tears to his eyes, and he wanted to stop, really, but stood no chance. As if from a great distance, the blond Nord grunted in disgust.

“Useless waste of space, this one”, he muttered, but Hanzo ignored him. He wished he could ignore the hand shaking him, too, but Jesse seemed determined to have his attention back.

“What’s wrong with you? Did they kick your head too hard? Are you…”

“The… oh, the irony”, he blurted out, brushing his cheeks with the back of his hands. His tears were hot, burning on his skin. “Only _once_ I missed my mark, and look at me now…” He shook his head, and when he finally managed to drag a long breath the Stormcloak in front of him glared at him in disgust.

“Shut your trap, elf…”

“Or _what_? They’re going to behead us the same, how could things get worse?”

The haggard man sitting by Jesse started to sob quietly, and his high-pitched, muffled noises erased what was left of the nervous conversation. Hanzo sighed and leaned back against the front of the cart, scanning the blinding white sky.

The air smelled like snow. Too bad he wouldn’t live enough to see it fall…

He blinked, and when his eyes focused back on the clouds a jolt of tension shot through his body.

“What was that?” he asked in a whisper. Ulfric and his minion blatantly ignored him, and the whining man was too busy commiserating himself to pay him much heed. Jesse, though, was a different matter.

“What?”

Hanzo peeked at him from the fall of his hair and marveled at his composure. He looked attentive, his nose, minutely thickened on its profile by an ancient fracture, upturned to the sky.

Suddenly he felt foolish. His mind was playing him tricks, and who could blame him? For all his attempts at pushing it back, fear was heavy in his heart.

Despite everything, he didn’t want to die.

“Nothing”, he muttered over the unpleasant rumbling of his heart.

They were passing under the archway leading into town. A part of his brain still refused to acknowledge the tragedy he was walking into – he had nothing to share with the Nords those Imperials had captured. He was an oddity, a mistake, but even the last of the drunkards in that shard of ice they called Skyrim could see he was not one of Ulfric’s men.

Helgen greeted them with its assortment of thick, gray walls and wooden beams holding shaggy hay roofs. It wasn’t different from all the other towns Hanzo had visited during his long years in this foreign country – same squatted, sturdy architecture, same faces peeking from the windows, ruddy cheeks and fair manes spitting in Ulfric’s direction. There was hatred in the townsfolk, and from the bottom of his growing anxiety Hanzo felt a pang of satisfaction.

The king slayer was not greeted with the respect due to a hero, and Ulfric closed his eyes as if in pain.

 _Serves you right_ , Hanzo thought. He would have grinned, but his lips felt stiff from the cold. When his gaze traveled down the cobbled road to the tower at the center of the city square, though, any will to laugh evaporated.

Like a warning black finger rising to the sky, the tower gazed upon a long line of prisoners, most of them in the blue and leather uniforms of the Stormcloaks. Hanzo felt like there were needles in his throat.

“Here we are”, muttered Jesse. The creaking of knuckles shot through Hanzo’s numbness, and as he turned around he found the tall man’s face shining quietly with expectation. He wasn’t pale or drawn with fear and from the long journey – he only seemed careful. Interested, even.

The cart came to a halt with a start, and the horses neighed softly, puffing clouds of steam around their muzzles.

“Off with you all”, grunted one of the Imperial soldiers. The pommel of his word hit the side of the cart, and the haggard man at Jesse’s side let out a squeal and closed his eyes. Hanzo flared his nostrils as, one by one, the other prisoners were dragged offboard with little care – except for Ulfric, who didn’t receive the same shoves and pushes as the others. He dismounted with the grace of the nobleman he was, and Hanzo hated him a bit more for that.

A gloved hand grabbed Hanzo by the front of his cuirass and snatched him from the wooden beams. Instinctively, his fingers flexed around a bow that wasn’t there, and anger ignited his terror as he stumbled on the ground, avoiding falling on his face out of sheer stubbornness.

Tumbled among the small crowd, he sneered and kept his head high. _Pride_ , said a familiar voice in his head, one he hadn’t been hearing for ten years.  
_No, honor_ , he replied to himself, squaring his shoulders as he was shoved with the rest of the prisoners. A huge shoulder bumped against him, and when he looked up with a snarl he found Jesse smiling at him.

 _Winking_.

“Try not to worry too much, pumpkin. It won’t take long”. And how was it possible that such an ominous prediction could sound so reassuring?

Breathing in the foul reek of soiled, dirty bodies all around him, Hanzo spied over his comrades’ shoulders. White and black, again – damp stones piled in walls and a dazzling sky above them. It all seemed weird, as if he wasn’t living the moment but rather watching it from a great distance.

He still had a chance. One by one, the prisoners were taken to a tired-looking officer, with a square face and gentle eyes. If he could fight the panic tingling in his fingertips, the woods were still near enough for him to shot away and find shelter in the shadows, and then…

Dizziness lifted from his brain the moment a loud clamor rang some two people in front of him.

“I won’t let you take me! I’m innocent!” screeched the scrawny man from his cart. Hanzo frowned and looked at him run in an unsteady zig-zag on the smooth stones. He didn’t even reach the archway: one of the Imperials, a dark woman with a shiny helmet and clearly no time for this nonsense, picked a bow from her shoulder and took her time nocking the arrow.

“Why must you make a fool of yourself…” she grunted. The tension in the bowstring mirrored in Hanzo’s muscles, and he could almost feel the whiff of air when the woman released her shot.

All in all, he had to give the man credit for his bravery; when the arrow found its mark – a good shot, straight to the fugitive’s ribcage, low enough to pierce more than just skin and flesh – the gurgling sound it elicited sent a wave of chill up Hanzo’s spine.

The man fell to the ground and kicked weakly.

“Anyone else wants to play the hero?” cried out the Imperial woman, her voice covering the chuckle from her troops.

Hanzo looked down at the tip of his boots, and once more Jesse bumped against him.

“Not you, pretty thing”, he whispered. “I know that look of yours, and as you’ve seen, running away won’t take you very far”.

The wounded man was still reeling on the ground, a dark red patch seeping through his rags. No one moved to help him, and Hanzo held on to his anger to keep horror at bay.

“Funny. I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Nord”.

Jesse gave him that insufferable smirk of his, unbothered by the impending doom.

“It’s _Jesse_ for you, darlin’. Try not to forget it, it may come in handy later”.

A river of words swelled in Hanzo’s mind. He lacked the patience or the spirits to bear with this man’s chattering, and even if he was prone to gallows humor like any other man, he wasn’t used to being on the wrong side of death.

After a moment, the fugitive stopped squirming and lay motionless on the cold ground. The woman put her bow back on her shoulder and gestured to one of the guards crowding around them.

“Bring them on. I don’t have all day, Hadvar”, she grunted, and the man called Hadvar blinked and fumbled with a parchment paper.

“Understood. Er – prisoners, form a line here. There’s no need to make this even worse”, he said in a deep, slightly shaking tone.

A depressing procession unwound from the carts, one sorry excuse of a human being and then another, and one more until all the captives were lined, trembling and resigned to their fate. The man with the list rattled off a long list of names, adding a few words of comfort for each prisoner. None of them looked grateful for his compassion, but he kept doing it nonetheless, and each man and woman, after hearing the call, moved to the square around the tower.

The headsman was there already, a huge man in a black hood. His eyes were but a glimmer in the shadows, but Hanzo felt them scanning him with cruel nonchalance.

_This can’t be happening to me. There’s no honor in leaving this life by the hand of a careless hireling._

“You. Dunmer, come here”, said a voice from a faraway place. Hanzo couldn’t look up from his bound hands, until Jesse’s hands knocked on his shoulder.

“Your turn, darlin’”, he rumbled. Hanzo, startled, blinked at him – and now the Nord looked legitimately serious. Was he finally acknowledging the disaster they were facing?

But Hanzo had no time to think further. An Imperial soldier grabbed him by the elbow and shoved him forward, and this awakened some of his bleeding pride: he snatched his arm from the man’s grip and snarled, and when he took a step toward the man with the list he held his head high.

Hadvar gave him an almost pained look before going back to his papers. His big hands clenched on the parchment, and the small sound, almost drowned by the huffing of horses, the chattering of the people and the prayers of the convicts, shot through Hanzo’s brain.

Details. Small, insignificant details – a rusty patch on the man’s armor, a missing ring on his chain mail, the frown growing between his brows – that pierced his attention like many arrows. He was present to the moment and at the same time out of his body, and he almost forgot the cold gnawing at his swollen fingers.

“… Commander, this one’s not on the list”.

Hanzo’s eyes widened at the muttered words. A mistake, that was it – he was not supposed to be here after all, not among that pack of Nords and their leader. Relief blossomed from the pit of his stomach and he let his lips tremble in silence.

The armored woman approached her comrade and checked the list.

Then she shrugged.

“I don’t care, Hadvar. Let’s cut this short, if he was on the cart he deserves what’s coming. Send him with the rest”, and she stormed away.

As fast as it was born, the bubble of relief turned into a stone and crushed Hanzo’s hopes. Ice froze his sharp features as he clenched his fists, tasting bile on the tip of his tongue.

A thud came from the square. He tried not to pay it too much attention, but he knew its meaning – the execution was already happening.

Hadvar let out a sigh and his broad shoulders sagged. His dark eyes, meek and sad, went back to Hanzo.

“What’s your name, prisoner?” he asked in a whisper.

Hanzo didn’t reply. He only stared back in a mute challenge, a dying man’s last stand.

Another sigh, louder this time, and Hadvar shook his head.

“As you wish. Do you… do you want us to send a note to your family? Back in Morrowind, maybe?”

 _Family_. Hanzo’s sneer twisted into a grimace, and a bitter laughter caught in his throat. Hadvar’s shape in front of him instantly blurred with despised tears, and the man misunderstood the whole situation.

“Oh. I’m sorry – but if it’s of any comfort for you, I think you’ll meet them again… after”. He made an awkward gesture, as if to pat Hanzo on the shoulder, but stopped before his intentions became clear. He coughed in his fist and nodded. “Follow the others, if you please… I’m sorry”, he said again.

And for a moment, Hanzo believed him. As he walked on the slippery stones as if in a nightmare, he realized he was hanging to a stranger’s momentary kindness like a drowning man after a shipwreck, and shame added up to his despair. He slid by an empty window, and at the corner of his eye he saw the mirror surface darken suddenly.

From the bottom of his anguish, his nerves tensed, but when he turned around the window only reflected the dull, white sky.

Once he reached the open space by the tower, a new, different sound floated from the buzz around him. A priestess was chanting, and her forced words of comfort and hope clashed painfully with the stench of blood streaking the chilled air.

The man before him – a Stormcloak, shaggy ginger hair and a ragged beard – walked with dignity to the block. He was young, twenty at most, but he held himself with the authority of a noble; he even grinned at the headsman, turning around to stare at the Imperials gathered there. One of the guards put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to his knees, and the boy didn’t stop smiling.

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

He didn’t shake as he bent over the block, and then the axe hissed in the air.

 _Thud_.

Now the Stormcloak _did_ shake, a crimson gush spurting from his neck and spreading on the ground as the severed head rolled in a conveniently placed basket. Dead limbs danced and wriggled when the body rolled on its side, and the air filled with the suffocating reek of released body fluids.

An invisible hand closed on Hanzo’s throat. He was far from ignorant about the many ways of death, but it was the first time in his many years as an assassin he saw a man die from beheading.

Nausea exploded in his chest.

 _Not like this_ , he repeated in his head like a chant, not less creepy than the religious nonsense the priestess was blabbering.

 _Not like this_ , as his vision doubled and his muscles trembled for much more than fear and cold. Blood roared in his ears, a loud, throbbing scream that dulled the world around him.

And blood puddled on the floor in front of him, too, mixed with mud in a monstrous black sludge. They were moving the corpse, dragging it by its feet to join the many others already piled on a cart.

Flies buzzed everywhere, tiny black dots thriving on devastation.

“The fuck is _that_?” whispered Jesse. Hanzo hadn’t realized he was standing so near, and his warm voice shook him from his panic; when he turned to look at him – still better than focusing over and over again on the block, shiny with dripping blood – he saw the other man frowning, his eyes squinted and pointed to the sky.

The roaring in his ears didn’t relent.

“Dunmer. _Now_ ”, growled the headsman, pointing at Hanzo with his soiled axe.  

Hanzo didn’t get it at first. He was still looking at the dazzling white sky, a decent distraction from the horrible end awaiting him; someone had to push him forward, and he stumbled on his feet.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’s gonna be over soon”, said Jesse, but his words disappeared in the new wave of incredulous dread that invaded him.

 _Not like this_.

His feet looked so weird as they led him to the block, the squelching sound from his soles a creaking echo over the noise in his ears and head. Voice were whispering around him, and a distant part of his wits registered some form of nervousness spreading among the prisoners.

If only he could care…

But all he felt, all he was _made of_ was the awareness of death coming for him. It was an immense idea that erased every other sensation, one he’d felt twice in his life – once when eyes so like his own had stared at him from a bloodied, shocked face, and more recently when he’d seen the flames dancing from the Sanctuary.

Now it was his time. And he couldn’t accept it.

He slipped and fell to his knees in the revolting mud, blood and shit and piss still warm under him. He retched and clenched his jaws, but when he tried to swallow his tongue felt too dry to cooperate.

The head of the previous prisoner was staring at him. Blue, vacant eyes, gelatinous globes in a twisted, even surprised face.

Someone grabbed his hair and forced his head forward and down, until his forehead rested on the chapped wood.

His breath came out in harsh, quickened pants, and his head went blank. He was vaguely aware of the crows cawing above him, of the chattering of the prisoners, and even more so of an indistinct thought stirring in the remains of his consciousness – a smile, a young voice teasing him, laughing.

_Brother!_

Regret started to thicken in his heart, bringing forth memories of a time he had a family and an honor to call his own, but then even that vanished.

The only thing that existed was death, coming for him on dark wings. Hanzo couldn’t hear anything, or see anything, so he simply closed his eyes and waited.

And waited.

… and _waited_ , until it felt like eternity was rolling around him in circles.

Hanzo took a shuddering breath and regretted his decision immediately when the stench burned his throat, but something felt wrong. He tried to open one eye, and the light scorched his brain – but it also brought all his other senses back.

First came his hearing, and he held his breath as he realized everyone was screaming in utter terror. He peeled himself from the block and, from the fall of his dirty hair, he saw chaos had exploded in the ranks. People were running in an uncoordinated mess, and even the headsman dropped his axe and fled, waving his thick arms around.

The thumping of his heart was replaced by the scrams of dozens of fugitives – prisoners, citizens and Imperials alike.

Blinking confusion away, Hanzo tried to hang on to his survival instinct and get to his feet, but before he could regain some balance the winter sky went black and the ground itself _jumped_.

Hanzo stumbled down on his knees, hitting hard the cobblestones and barely managing to cover his head with his arms as a rain of debris fell upon him. He sunk his head in his shoulders and slid away, stumbling to a more dignified, standing position and rubbing his arm on his eyes.

An arrow hissed so near his face it ruffled his beard, and he ducked without thinking twice – and then he started to understand.

The prisoners, scattered in every direction, were not what the Imperials were interested into. More arrows flew around him, aiming at something at his back, and all at once Hanzo felt in the middle of a way more terrifying chaos than a few moments before.

He followed the trajectory of the next dart – sparing but a glance at the Imperial soldier wielding a crossbow – and his blood froze in his veins.

Hanzo Shimada was not native of Skyrim, and he’d always cared little about its folklore or religion. Still, he knew stories.

 _Legends_.

But in his almost thirty years of existence he’d always thought them nothing more than this – legends.

Only now, from the bottom of the most humiliating moment of his life, he saw the truth.

Monsters were real. And they had snakelike necks, whips for tails, and massive, impossibly so bodies shining with scales of obsidian.

Hanzo fell flat on his ass, and to hell with dignity. He could only gape at the dragon perched on the top of the crumbling tower. The creature spread its wings, so wide and dark they obscured the very sun, and it rose its spiky head to roar its dare at the heavens. Its shriek made every hair on Hanzo’s body stand up in sheer alarm, a primal cry that echoed among the mountains and deep in his bones.

With a gasp, Hanzo crawled back, clumsy for his still tied hands, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the beast.

It couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be _there_.

The dragon snorted sparkles and smoke, and its long neck twisted and unwound from the tower, where its steel claws were still crumbling the stones. Giant, ember eyes scanned the city and rested on Hanzo before moving on.

Only to get back to him with intention. Vertical lids blinked, and the beast tilted its head – and hadn’t Hanzo been so shocked already, he could have believed his own eyes when the dragon’s mouth stretched over infinite fangs in what looked much like a grin.

All the courage Hanzo thought he possessed vanished in a shiver. He stood frozen under the ruthless, ancient stare of the creature, forgetting the world going mad around him. Gone were the screams, the whine of dying men, gone was the scorching pain in his hands and the mud under his feet.

He’d been scared, terrified, even, when he’d knelt by the block.

Now he _was_ pure fear.

He panted softly, eyes locked with the monster on top of the tower, and let it dig through his soul and bare his heart. Dying, after all, would have been much easier.

The dragon’s chest inflated, and a comet of fire exploded through its fangs. The sudden heat, the blinding light roused Hanzo from his stupor, and when the flames hissed past his head he gasped and ducked. The fireball landed on a group of archers somewhere behind him, and he couldn’t but stare in shock at the charred, whining figures burning and flailing their arms in a pathetic attempt to save their lives.

He was still mesmerized by the bright red walls of flames surging around him and caressing his face with scorching fingers when a second round of deep roaring trembled from the tower. His muscles clenched in a freeze response to the impending danger, but then his world turned red – and rather painful, as something big and blunt hit him hard in his side.

Hanzo rolled on the ground right before another meteor shot right where his head used to be. Breathless, with his ribs crushed under an impossibly heavy weight, he felt it sizzle in his hair with a subtle smell of burned skin, and before he could open his eyes or take a lungful of ashen air, he found himself hauled on his feet.

No time to ask question. Jesse, towering above him, sported a smear of soot on his nose and a red bruise on his cheekbone; his only hand clenched on Hanzo’s cuffs and he dragged him away, ignoring his stumbling or his rasping, half bitten protests.

“Head down”, Jesse growled, grabbing Hanzo’s by the nape of his neck and forcing him behind a half-collapsed wall. And in all honesty, with a dragon throwing up flames at the center of square, he felt in no position to rebel against such a rude treatment. He slid on his knees and stopped with his back against the warm blocks, eventually remembering his need for air.

A fit of cough shook him to the core and made him double over, while the poor people of Helgen ran for their lives and cried in the background. Breathing was harder than he’d expected, and with every rise and fall of his chest his throat burned so much he tasted copper on his tongue.

“It’s fine, sugar, yer still alive”, muttered Jesse at his side. “Hey, Hanzo – look at me, alright? We’re still alive”.

A lightning shot in the fog of his confusion. Hanzo took a shuddering breath that seemed to calm his retching and stared at his unlikely companion. Jesse was fumbling with his sleeve, rising his shoulder until he managed to pick a loose strand from the seam between his teeth.

_How do you know my name?_

The words died on the tip of Hanzo’s tongue, but a different sense of danger settled in his stomach. He squinted at the tall man crouched at his side, framed by the golden halo of the fires, and felt terror subside in favor of suspicion and foreshadowing.

“Here”, mumbled Jesse, slipping what looked like a piece of wire from the seam and rolling it with his tongue. “Give me yer hands”.

“Who are you?” he hissed, keeping his arms bent against his chest. Jesse cocked an eyebrow and flashed him a quick smile, nearly as dangerous as the smirk of the dragon.

“The right man in the right place at the right time. I s’pose yer not too much into the idea of bein’ roasted alive, so…” He plucked the wire from his mouth and gestured back at Hanzo, who frowned and tried his best to form a coherent thought. Jesse shrugged and took his hands. “D’ya mind?”

At this point, the honest answer was no, but Hanzo couldn’t quite focus on the moment. He was too distracted by the growls and shrieks, the smell of burned flesh and the supernatural wind rising from the dragon taking flight. He let Jesse take his hands in his lap and fidget with the irons, until a soft click vibrated against this skin.

Blinking, he looked down to his arms, and when he saw the irons falling into the mud his whole body shivered.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as blood flowed slowly into his numbed fingers, bringing life back to his pale skin. Jesse cocked an eyebrow and peeked from their hideout.

“Gotta help a fella in trouble”, he chuckled, but turned serious in a heartbeat. Dark eyes scanned the battlefield – more like a slaughterhouse – while Hanzo massaged his wrists in utter disbelief. Was a stranger really helping him out?

Jesse took his arm and pulled him closer without even turning to look at him, and Hanzo, unbalanced on his toes, nearly fell against him.

“See that? The tower. The path’s clear and that beast is out of sight for now… shit, I’d hoped for a diversion, but this is a bit of an overkill. Nevermind, can you run, sunshine?”

A sparkle of pride glimmered from the bottom of Hanzo’s soul. He clenched his fists and threw his dirty hair back with a sneer.

“You apparently don’t know that much about me, after all…”

And before Jesse could open his mouth in one of his unnecessary replies, Hanzo bolted on his feet and leaped from the wall.

The man had been right: for all the devastation it sported, the square was indeed clear. No one stood in his way, apart from a dozen of corpses and some smoking wood, and Hanzo found a brand-new kind of strength in his legs. He jumped over a puddle and avoided a small slide of debris, eyes fixed on the gaping void of the tower’s door.

Almost there – the dragon glided above him and obscured the sky; less than a step behind him, Jesse was cursing as he quickly caught up with him. Hanzo ducked to avoid a rain of arrows and sprinted forward. The threshold was slippery with grime and his boots almost lost their grip, but all at once there was no more white sky above his head, and the cacophony of the battle dulled to a near rumbling.

Hanzo stopped short of stepping on a dying Stormcloak curled on the floor; his lungs burned, his hands tingled with cold and blood flow, and the next roar from the dragon chilled him to the bone. It was as if a faraway part of his brain awoke at once, fumbling to grasp a meaning where only beastly cries were.

No time to indulge in such fantasies: he let them sink to the bottom of his mind and turned when the door slammed closed. Jesse, wiping a streak of blood from his forehead, looked dangerous as he reached him and took his shoulder.

“Alright, partner, here’s the thing: this is our chance to get out of here. Up the stairs, now!”

“Wait!” moaned the wounded man from the ground. His hand grabbed Jesse’s ankle, and Hanzo tried not to look at the dreadful burn turning his head to a purple and black mask. “The… The Jarl. W-Where is… where is Ulfric?”

“Dead, I hope”, hissed Hanzo. Jesse slid his leg from the man’s grip, teeth bared and hair falling in front of his eyes.

“I’m not fond of that jerk either, but now, if you please…” He shoved Hanzo to the stairs, and the momentarily idea of searching for the bane of his own race and put an end to his folly once and for all faded from Hanzo’s priorities. He nodded and walked two steps at a time, up in a spiral of stone and panic to the first floor; the wall was nearly shattered and showed a glimpse of ablaze roofs and grey smoke.

Here, Hanzo stopped. An armed Stormcloak was standing in the way, and years of training as an assassin stirred inside him. He knew he how to kill a man with his bare hands, and that sword in the Stormcloak’s fist posed little threat for him – but time, once more, stopped existing.

The man had pale blue eyes and a scar across his cheek. He stared at Hanzo for a moment, and then burst into flames.

Hanzo screamed. The Stormcloak let out a high-pitched shriek and whirled his arms around; two staggering steps and he fell into the void, a living torch that disappeared with a piercing stench of burning hair.

Before he could move from the top step or stifle his shocked cry, Hanzo saw the head of the dragon peek from the wall. 

It was there, only feet from him. It smelled of iron and sulfur, and the sound bubbling from its chest could have been a snarl, but it was so deep and low it shook Hanzo’s bones. The colossal horned skull turned to face him, and with a jolt of pure terror Hanzo noticed the eyes were not those of a beast – they sparkled with ancient, brutal intelligence.

Blame it on his fear or the trauma of the last hours, but Hanzo could’ve sworn that a grin was back on the creature’s lips.

The dragon stared at him for a while, dark against an equally dark world – smoke and arrows that didn’t seem to bother the beast. A lucky strike found a weak spot among the armored scales near one of his eyes, and the creature howled and turned its long neck back. Its claws crumbled the stones and he took off with an outraged cry.

Hanzo stood motionless, more stunned by the vague sensation of words behind the dragon’s noises. It was impossible, wasn’t it?

Jesse pushed him forward, and Hanzo hadn’t even realized he was behind him in the first place. He picked the abandoned sword from the floor, bloodless lips and eyes wide.

“By the Nine, have you seen that?”

Hanzo could barely nod. The gaze of the dragon seemed to be branded inside him, and he could think of little else. Even the death threat that surrounded them seemed a small thing in comparison.

Jesse checked down the collapsed wall and spat.

“This is the only way out. We gotta jump”.

At this, Hanzo roused and arched his eyebrows.

“… Jump?”

“Yeah, jump! And quickly, too!”

Hanzo looked down the tower. A single building seemed to have resisted the devastation, and from here it looked very small and very far down.

It was either dying from the fall or waiting to be killed. By the dragon or the Imperials, it made little difference right now. His brief hesitation gained him a heavy hand on the shoulder.

“Look, pretty eyes”, growled Jesse, stooping so that the tip of his nose nearly brushed Hanzo’s, “you do as you’re told, or I’ll have to toss you. Your pick”.

Another surge of pride rekindled his survival instinct. Hanzo swatted Jesse’s hand from his shoulder and shot him a killer stare.

“I don’t need you to play the nurse”, he hissed. He checked the leap again and measured the distances, and then gave up calculations in favor of a plea to sheer good luck.

He took a deep breath that still made his throat itch, closed his eyes and clenched his jaws. One, two running steps on the stone floor, and at the third his foot met nothing but thin air.

He forgot dignity and screamed again, arms wrapped around his head and body ready for the impact. The stingy embrace of hay surprised him, but he came back to his senses to curl into a ball and sink through the roof in a more or less controlled fashion. He rolled on the floor and got to his feet, spurred more by the habit of a lifetime than an actual conscious decision, and for a moment he stood there, crouching and listening to the thundering of his heart.

_I’m alive. My neck’s still in one piece. This can’t be real._

A bang echoed behind him, and Hanzo turned to see Jesse run toward him with surprisingly more grace than he’d expected from such a giant.

“Alright, better than expected”, he said, brushing his hair from his brow. He smirked and winked, pointing his only hand to the stairs. “I know a way out through the keep, and it would be a waste of a good opportunity, am I right?”

To this, Hanzo had no objection. Fate forced him to rely on a stranger, and that scruffy Nord had proved worth his time for now, so he nodded and followed him down the stairs.

What had once been Helgen welcomed them with more death and a black curtain of smoke; he followed Jesse under a stone arch, and in a second the tower behind them exploded in a column of flames.

His legs started to protest as they struggled to reach the studded doors opening on a square, sturdy building, but Hanzo ignored his aching muscles. If he lived through the day, there was going to be time to complain about his injuries.

Jesse impacted against the door, slamming it open with his shoulder.

“Move!” he shouted as the dragon descended in circles over the ruins. Hanzo gave one last look at the battle – Imperials and Stormcloaks dying in the same flames, and Ulfric nowhere to be seen.

Another time, perhaps. He bared his teeth and jumped through the door second before the dragon intercepted them with its dive.

For a long moment, everything went pitch black. In the darkness, the voices of the soldiers were but a memory, and the trembling and crumbling of the building the only reality that mattered. Hanzo covered his head with his hands as rocks fell upon him, bruising his skin and opening new wounds – and then everything went quiet.

In the silence, his beating heart was deafening. And then a way louder sound burst from his side: Jesse started to cough, thus reminding Hanzo that he, too, needed to breathe. Dust and stale air filled his chest, and he joined Jesse’s ragged choking.

After a while, still in the most complete darkness, the dust settled, and his throat stopped itching. Jesse, too, calmed down and sighed; the soft thud at his side showed the other man had dropped to the floor.

“Well, looks like we did it”, Jesse rasped. Hanzo snorted and flexed his fingers; exhaustion and fear were claiming their fee, but he still managed to summon a tiny light, now dancing on his palm.

“You have my thanks”, he whispered, hoarse after too much screaming. In the pale light, Jesse’s blood-covered face looked ghastly, his eyes but pools of shadows. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, no big deal”, Jesse grunted. He picked himself up and grimaced as he took a tentative step forward, but his lips quickly relaxed into a smile. “Not at my best, but those guys out there had it worse… c’mon, sugar, it’s a long way out”.

He patted Hanzo’s arm and led the way down what looked like an empty corridor, and eventually to a door.

“If luck assists us – and let me tell you, she usually does – we’ll find some supplies. I have a feelin’ the bad part’s over”, Jesse chuckled, kicking the door open in front of Hanzo.

And to his surprise, he was correct. Their footsteps produced a louder sound as they entered a vast room, and Hanzo squinted in the dim light. Jesse moved from his side, and soon a torch blazed in the darkness, showing some frugal beds lined to the walls and the glimmer of metal on a weapon rack near the opposite door.

“I love bein’ right”. Jesse kicked one of the trunks by the beds open and gestured to Hanzo. “Help yerself, honey”.

Luck seemed to be on their side indeed. Neatly folded clothes, a linchpin, a dented tankard – and from the headpiece hung a crude bow and a fully stocked quiver. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as his fingers ran on the warm wood of the bow, feeling tears prickle behind his lids.

He was himself again. Not a victim, nor a prisoner – a warrior. An archer. The quiver felt pleasantly heavy, slung across his chest, and the bow, though not the best he’d ever handled, was properly polished, its string tense and ready. After days of disorientation, he was ready to fight, and not just to flee, and his brain settled back to a colder, more familiar path.

Hanzo tilted his head to stare at Jesse. He was standing by the next door, too busy checking the weapon rack to pay him much attention.

The time for running was over. Not it was time to find answers. Without a word, he slid an arrow from the quiver and nocked it into the bow. The string sang under his fingertips, the feathers smooth on his skin. Had he just opened his hand, Jesse would have dropped dead before even realizing he was in danger.

Somehow, the idea felt wrong, and Hanzo shook his head to clear it from an old, wrong habit.

“… Swords and maces and spears, and not a proper crossbow to speak of”, the other man was muttering. Hanzo saw him slid a dagger in his boot and turn around, and his smile froze on his lips. “Woah there, partner – put that down, someone could get hurt”, he said, slowly lifting his hand.

“How do you know my name?” Hanzo was this close to trembling again, but he forced his breath to a steady rhythm and schooled his face to his trusted ruthless mask.

“No, really, there’s no need for things to get ugly, why don’t we just…”

“ _How?”_

Jesse was providing a very good impression of the poor, threatened innocent victim. Too good, and the glimmer in his eyes told a different story than his hunched shoulders and shaky smile.

“Well I… I….” Jesse sighed, and his lips curled up into a mischievous grin. “Fine, you got me there”. He took a step toward Hanzo – and then another one, defying the arrow pointed straight to his chest. Unfaltering, he pinched the metal head between his fingers and gave it a twist.

Hanzo couldn’t shoot. Leaving the Dark Brotherhood had made him weak, because now he couldn’t bring himself to kill the man in front of him.

“I never told the guards my name”, he whispered. His arm quivered, and Jesse now looked like an impending danger he lacked the energies to fight.

Only, he wasn’t acting like a danger at all. He stood there, fidgeting with the arrow and smiling.

“Yer not gonna shoot me”.

“Don’t underestimate me”.

“You need answers more than you need more bloodshed, I can see it in your eyes – and for now let me just say this”. He took a step back and spread his arms, giving Hanzo a full view of his broad torso. “I was sent to find you”.

“Who? Who sent you?” The bow was too heavy now, the strain in his shoulders unbearable. He lowered his arms but didn’t back away. His head buzzed even more than it had second before his failed execution.

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, but a rumble from above them startled them both; the malicious look on his face faded into sincere concern.

“Look, someone paid me to find you, and they paid me enough to risk my sorry hide under dragonfire. I’m sure you can see how someone in my position is not s’posed to give away all the details, but if you follow me out of this nightmare I promise I’ll tell you everything”.

Hanzo, despite his most vicious intentions, was inclined to agree; still, he lifted the bow minutely and narrowed his eyes.

“Why should I trust you?”

“What – are you serious?” Jesse rolled his eyes and shook his head in complete disbelief. “I helped you escape the headsman _and_ a dragon! Had I wanted you dead, I should’ve just let you be, y’know?”

 _He’s got a point_ , he had to admit. Hanzo felt warmth spread on his cheeks and scrunched his nose, eventually putting the bow away for good.

Jesse laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, then reached forward to pat Hanzo’s shoulder.

“That’s my man. Ready to go?”

Hanzo grabbed his wrist with enough strength to hurt; Jesse didn’t flinch.

Two thoughts battled in his head for his attention – he needed to know who sent for him, and at the same time he didn’t want to. What if it was the last remains of the Dark Brotherhood were looking for him? Some had survived the destruction of the Sanctuary, of that he had no doubt, but the idea of going back to that life…

His brother’s face flashed in his memory, eyes crinkling with laughter and the way his hair didn’t seem built to stay smooth on his head.

Hanzo shoved Jesse back and nodded once.

Out of this nightmare, he’d said. As if there was a future for someone like him. He waited until he was sure his voice could sound as intimidating and stern as possible, and then he lied.

“Fair enough. But once we’re out of Helgen, you’ll tell me everything”.

“Deal”, Jesse said immediately, holding out his hand for Hanzo to shake. And he looked so sincere, so open Hanzo almost felt guilty when he took it in his firm grip.

Even guiltier when, less than an hour later, he left Jesse rummaging through a kitchen, locking the door behind him and darting away into the darkness.

Out of Helgen and on his own way to nowhere.

 

  
[Source](http://ilatrash.tumblr.com/post/168363639842/commission-for-the-amazing-valpur-hanzo-and)


	2. Zein

_Middas,1st of Morning Star, 4E201_

 

Riften’s streets were frozen and empty in the last hours before dawn. Ice creaked under his feet where the dampness of the night had turned into a shimmering surface all over the planks around the docks.

Silent as a shadow, Genji walked up the stairs that led to the marketplace. His footsteps disappeared under the never-ending ebb and flow of the waters, and even the content of his pockets was silent. How easily he could have become invisible, melting in the darkness to witness life unfurl around him, unaware.

Tonight, though, there was no one to see him slither on the cobblestones among the desert market stands. Everyone had been too busy celebrating the birth of a new year to care about the unavoidable hangover, and now even the beggars were gone, sleeping in their bundles of rags to keep what little warmth they could gather.

He, too, was supposed to be slouched somewhere with the taste of mead heavy on his tongue and his fellows laughing around him, but times had changed. _He_ had changed, and the turn of the year brought along the last crack in his shell.

Only, he couldn’t face it alone. Oh, he had friends, family, even, but he needed an impartial opinion on the matter – not Gabe’s “Nocturnal has other business at hand” or McCree’s “Let the past be past”. Not that he didn’t appreciate the spirit, but it was not helpful.

A guard was dozing off against the wall, spear and shield abandoned at his feet and head lulling on his chest. Genji waited for a moment in the shadows of the walls, then shrugged and almost laughed. Even wide awake, the man would have posed no threat – and this time, he wasn’t doing anything illegal. Quite the contrary, despite what his black armor suggested.

He smirked under the mask covering half of his face and slid through the gate and through the courtyard of the temple. A gust of wind bent the flames from the braziers, and in the sudden stillness the golden lights danced on the statue welcoming him.

The guard was just some ten feet away, and his snoring seemed so far away already. Genji stopped by the statue and looked up, a weird tightness clenching his heart.

Mara’s open arms were welcoming, her sweet face turned up to the night sky so sweet, sorrowful and loving it was almost painful to look at. Genji pulled the mask off his face and his lips opened in a wordless prayer.

_Show me how to be whole again_ , he wanted to say. _Teach me what forgiveness means, because the way is dark and I’m scared_. But his mind was a blur of memories and needs he couldn’t fully decipher. He served another mistress, but only here he could find the glimmer of understanding he so desperately craved.

A grunt came from the street, and Genji tensed. Pulling the hood low on his forehead he tiptoed up the stairs and placed his hand on the wooden door. A slow push, a soft squeaking of hinges, and he silently slipped inside the incense-scented darkness.

Silence was different, here. It held no trace of mischief or danger – it was quiet and sheltered, and even the shadows thickening under the naves felt reassuring. Just like getting tucked into bed by a parent he barely remembered. With a sigh, he cast his gaze around the empty temple; the flickering lights of a few candles by the altar were not enough to let him make out more than benches and flowers on a white tablecloth, their smell covered by that of incense and melting wax.

_So here I am_ , he said to himself, shifting his weight on his feet. The Temple of Mara had been a constant presence in his ten years in Riften, a reassuring sign of normality he’d never paid much attention to. He’d been too involved with his work for Nocturnal and the Guild, and most importantly his soul had been too tainted by anger and remorse to give the statue more than a passing glance.

In time, though, his burden had become too heavy to bear, and the gentle face of the mother goddess an open invitation. Good for him Nocturnal was not a jealous mistress, or so he hoped.

A distant cough echoed from somewhere under him, and Genji instinctively retracted against the wall. Had he just wrapped himself in his cloak, he could’ve become one with the darkness – but that was his training as Nightingale showing. Tonight, he had other goals. Way scarier than his usual tasks.

The wooden floor creaked beneath him, and Genji swallowed a muttered curse. He wanted someone to know he was there, and at the same time the old habit of stealth clashed with this odd necessity. For long minutes he stood there, motionless, letting the cold melt from his limbs and forcing himself to control his breath. Then, in the distance, a door clicked open.

_Here we go._

His mouth felt dry, and under the thick layer of his gloves his hands balled into fists to stop their untimely shaking. From a point behind the altar, a delicate golden light trembled in the silence, and soon the muffled sound of footsteps approached.

Frozen by the front door, Genji saw a lanky figure approach. He’d used to think all the priests of Mara to look the same, and it was easy to be fooled by their loose robes and warm hoods. The young man that bowed smiling in front of the statue by the altar, though, looked familiar.

He’d seen him already, but apart from a fleeting impression of big eyes and general good looks he’d never spared him a second thought. Now that the priest shuffled down the aisle, holding a small lamp, Genji found himself staring.

The soft curve on the priest’s lips mirrored the kindness of Mara’s face, and his eyes sparkled of the same warm gold of her statue. He walked past Genji and cracked the door open, peeking outside and shivering for the sudden whiff of icy winter air.

_He hasn’t seen me_ , Genji thought, clutching the cloak around his frame and looking at the young man’s slender fingers drumming on the wood. After a moment, the priest shrugged and went back in, shaking his head.

“I must’ve been imagining things”, he mumbled in a sweet voice that turned into a yawn as he closed the door behind him.

Something stirred from the bottom of Genji’s being and poked at him.

_You’re here for a reason_ , said a little voice in his head, and he swallowed hard. The priest was already walking past him, and before he could think twice, Genji took a step forward. A deliberately blatant one that made the leather of his soles squeak on the floor and the young man gasp and jump on his bare feet.

Stripped of the comfort of his beloved shadows, Genji stood in the warm halo of the candles with his eyes cast down. Even so, he couldn’t ignore the light panting of the other man, or how he almost dropped his lamp.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you”, he said in a hushed whisper. He knew what he looked like – a faceless creature of darkness, his red eyes the only sparkle in the blackness of his disguise. The priest blinked twice and frowned minutely, straightening his back; he was a palm taller than Genji, but lither. Younger.

“O-Only a bit. It’s not unusual for travelers and pilgrims to come to the temple of Mara at the most unlikely hours, and I thought I heard something…”

Genji chuckled in silence and shook his head. So much for his hard-earned stealth skills…

“I hoped I’d find somebody, and… well…”

He slid his hand in his pouch and produced a fat purse that tingled happily as he bounced it on his palm.

“Here. An offer to the temple”, he said, holding his hand out to the stranger.

This didn’t seem to impress him. His sweet eyes went to the purse for a moment, and then back to Genji’s face, scanning it in search for… what? But when the priest opened his mouth to speak, a sleepy voice echoed from downstairs.

“Zenyatta? Is anybody up there?”

“No”, he replied immediately, moving in front of Genji and shielding him from whoever could be approaching. “I just wanted to find a moment to commune with our Lady, Maramal. Go back to sleep”.

The same voice grumbled something Genji couldn’t quite understand, but soon a door clicked closed, and he felt they were alone again. A droplet of sweat trickled down his spine despite the cold.

Zenyatta turned to look at him again, and Genji felt quite the idiot for still clinging to the coin purse.

“You’re not here to make an offer, are you?”

“What? Why would you say so? Don’t you need…”

The gold in his fists suddenly made him feel guilty. Not for stealing it – that was his job, after all, and there were worse – but for _lying_. He fumbled for words, his breath warm against the mask covering him up to his nose, and the gentle pressure on his fingers startled him.

Genji looked up and saw a smile crinkling the corners of Zenyatta’s eyes.

“Lying is wrong, but some truths hurt. And Mara is great in the ways of compassion”. He wrapped his long hands over Genji’s fist and nodded. “I think you’re seeking for her comfort”.

“I…”

It was worst than he’d imagined. An unexpected will to flee surged inside him, and only by sheer stubbornness he managed to keep his composure and not recoil from the priest’s kindness.

It was hard, and it was right. All he needed now was to gather his courage and find the strength to tell his personal truth.

“… I think you’re right”, he admitted, still unable to look at Zenyatta. This didn’t seem to discourage him, as Genji realized when those warm hands, light as feathers, took his arms.

“Come, then. Sit with me, and our Lady will put your troubles into words, my friend”.

Genji soon found himself sitting on a bench, his hands clasped around the gold and his feet nervously brushing the planks. Zenyatta left him briefly to rekindle the fire in a nearby brazier, and when he took his place at Genji’s side, a pleasant warmth spread around them.

For a while, none of them spoke. Whenever Genji peeked from his hood, he found Zenyatta’s delicate profile lined in copper by the embers. He was young and good looking, with perfect brown skin and long lashes; his shaved hair was a dark, soft fuzz on his head, and his whole being radiated an aura of peace.

_You came here with a purpose. What are you now, some kind of coward?_

He could hear a deep voice snap those words in his mind, familiar and lost and more missed than he dared to admit.

After a long sigh, he let his arms fall in his lap and he hunched his shoulders.

“You said Mara is compassion. I think I need her guidance, now…”

“We all do, my friend. What name can I call you?”

“Sparrow”, he replied without thinking twice. Another mask, one he was not ready to let go of yet.

Zenyatta smirked, and Genji knew he hadn’t fooled him.

“The Sparrow is a Nightingale – one would think you had wings to fly, and yet you seem trapped to the ground. What’s keeping you from being free?”

At this, Genji gaped. He was indeed wearing the black of the Lady of Luck, but he hadn’t expected Zenyatta to tackle the subject with such ease.

“How do you know?”

“I was born and bred in Riften, and no one ever paid me much heed. I have ears to listen and eyes to see, I’ve heard tales – and kept secrets”. Zenyatta grinned with a hint of mischief. “Mara loves all of her children, and has no real interest in their criminal record, when they come to her with a sincere heart”.

“It… doesn’t bother you?”

“What? You being a member of the Thieves’ Guild?” A low chuckle shook his shoulders. “You may have come under the guise of shadows, but it’s Mara you’re looking for. I have nothing to fear, and neither should you”.

Tension relented in Genji’s body and soul. He shook his head and let the hood fall on his shoulder; he ran his fingers through his spiky black hair and down his jawline, pulling the mask away. He could only imagine how horrible his scars could look in the dim light, but Zenyatta didn’t flinch. To be more precise, he blinked and blushed faintly, lips parting slowly.

Definitely not a horrified reaction, and Genji’s self-esteem inflated a bit.

“… no, you don’t look dangerous to me”, muttered Zenyatta, dangling his feet from the bench.

“This is rather encouraging”. Genji bounced the purse in his hands; the tip of his long pointy ears felt rather hot, but he’d taken embarrassment into account when he’d decided to come to the temple. “Can your goddess tell me how forgiveness works?”

Zenyatta shrugged and fidgeted with the hem of his long sleeves.

“She can, and she will, and if you want me to, I can try and channel her wisdom”. His sweet eyes met Genji’s for a second, and he smiled. “But I need to know your story, or at least what you feel ready to share. Your secrets are safe in Mara’s heart – and in mine, too”.

So here came the hard part. Genji twisted the mask in his hands and scanned his soul for the right words, but only found a tangle of sorrow, resentment and affection he couldn’t define. A secret held for too long, and soon not a secret anymore.

“It’s… well, look at me, you’d think I’m the one with too many sins to be forgiven, and yet it’s more… I don’t know where to start…”

A soft hand took his own and squeezed it gently.

“From _your_ beginning. It’s always a good idea”.

A deep, painful sigh, and Genji nodded.

“Fine. I had – maybe I _still_ have a brother, and we were very close. Then he – uh, let’s say he started to hang out with some shady friends, and this means a lot, coming from me…”

“And he left you out of his new life”.

“Worse. Those people asked him to kill me, and he obeyed”.

A thick shroud of silence fell upon the temple. Zenyatta’s long fingers tensed in his own, and Genji hold on to them. An anchor to save him from getting lost in his past.

“I know what they told him. That it was his duty, that it was what they always did, and that he needed not to worry too much about it. I was just another contract, a faceless, nameless victim marked by someone rich enough to ask for the services of…”

“… the Dark Brotherhood”, Zenyatta concluded for him, his voice nothing but a ripple in the warm air.

The truth, spoken out loud, twisted the very fabric of reality. Genji suddenly felt like the world was distant and insignificant, and the only thing that mattered was the tear in the veil of his secrets.

It had begun, and now he had to finish it.

“Yes. My… my brother didn’t know it was me, and I wasn’t in the Guild yet, back then. I never knew who sent the Brotherhood after me, but it didn’t take me more than a thought to recognize the way the assassin moved”. He ran his hand through his hair, messing it in spikes on his head. “I knew him, and yet I tried to fight back with all I had. It wasn’t enough”.

“But he didn’t kill you”.

“Sheer good luck, on my side. My hood fell the moment he did this”, and he traced the long scar dividing his face in two, from his brow to his jaw and then some more, down his throat and chest. Old wounds, faded to gross, pale lines; he felt like they were bleeding again. “He saw my face and…”

He couldn’t put into words that moment of his past. Soaked in blood, laying on his back in the cold caress of grass and pine needles, wits and life leaving him in quick, scarlet trickles. He had looked up, his vision blurring with tears and death, and seen the assassin remove his cowl.

They had the same eyes, he and Hanzo. Dark red, big and long, with thick black lashes. That night of so many years ago, Hanzo’s had blown wide as his shaking hand lost its grip on his sword.

He’d seen him. His younger brother, dying in the mud, and realized his own mistake. That same face – pale as ashes, black hair too vivid against his skin, colorless lips trembling around an unspoken name – still lived in Genji’s nightmares.

“He ran away”, he said simply. “He dropped his sword, shook his head and left”.

It was a cheap description of what Hanzo had looked like in those fatal moments, but Genji knew he couldn’t bring himself to explain how that horrified look had killed something inside him, even more than his brother’s blade could’ve done. Faith and hope, the concept of family itself.

Zenyatta’s hand clutched his own in a steely grip. For the first time in years, Genji feared he could have cried as he recalled that defining point in his life.

It hadn’t been that hard, telling the whole tale to his fellow Nightingales – it had been years now, and that past Genji only knew anger and bitterness. It had helped keeping himself together and moving on, but in time a different feeling had made that armor insufficient and uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry, Sparrow”, whispered Zenyatta, his thumb caressing the back of Genji’s head.

“Same. I’m sorry I lost him, and I’m sorry I still miss him. Why can’t I just hate him as I’m supposed to?” He looked up, and his eyes locked with Zenyatta’s. Yes, tears were prickling behind his lashes, and the priest’s heart-breaking, sweet expression could have been the last straw to break his façade.

“You don’t want to hate him. You tried to, forced yourself to harbor a feeling you didn’t feel like your own, but it didn’t work”.

Genji sniffed discretely and schooled his mouth to a grimace that could’ve passed for a grin.

“It was not that difficult at first, to be honest. He _did_ try to kill me, after all…”

“… and you came here speaking of forgiveness nonetheless. Why?”

Something, in the young priest’s hushed voice, rang in the depths of Genji’s being, shaking him to the core. He frowned and stared deep into Zenyatta’s eyes, so beautiful he could’ve got lost in them in any other moment, and he knew that the answer was nearer than he’d expected.

“I want him back. He’s my family, and one of the people I like the most in the whole world. I want us to be brothers again, but I feel like no relationship can be built on… on whatever _this_ is”, and he vaguely gestured to his chest, as if to show the mess of feelings hiding there. “I just don’t know how to do it…”

Zenyatta stared at him for a long moment, and then, all at once, his face brightened up. It was as if a candle had been lit behind his eyes, and his whole being shone with a warm, comforting light. He leaned forward and took Genji’s face in his palms, shaking his head in amazement.

“How deep you are on the path of Mara, my friend… I wish you could see it as I do. Love always finds a way, and no matter how steep and hard that may be, I see hope for you”.

Genji blinked fast, his throat burning with emotion. Being held like this, like something precious and fragile, was new and incredible. He could almost believe Zenyatta’s words.

“What should I do?”

“Look for your brother. Talk to him as you talked to me – to Mara, I mean”, he corrected himself, blushing some more. “You can heal”.

Finding Hanzo. A possibility, but what if he was dead? It was more than likely, after what had happened to the Sanctuary. Genji suddenly pin pointed the exact moment his mind had changed: Hanzo could have died in the fire that had wiped the Dark Brotherhood away, but he’d always felt it was not the truth. His heart knew it, but his head needed proof.

“And after that? I… can’t just pop up from the shadows and go ‘Hey, remember me? I’m not that dead yet, can we be a family again?’, because trust me, if he didn’t kill me that one time he surely will now…”

Zenyatta chuckled, his fingers running down Genji’s cheeks.

“I’m positive you have the skills and resources to find a dunmer in Skyrim, Sparrow. And after that…” He turned to the altar, and Genji couldn’t tell what went on between him and Mara – no, not the statue, the actual goddess now felt like a living, breathing presence at their side. Zenyatta shook his head and smirked. “One step at a time, my friend. The night is dark, but the more you move on, the nearer dawn gets”.

Genji opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it. He could only stare at the serene face in front of him, knowing that he found more than the answers he’d come to search for.

Zenyatta was right. If Hanzo was alive, no one in the whole of Tamriel was more suitable to find him than the Thieves Guild. As a Nightingale, he had duties to fulfil on Nocturnal’s behalf, but he had friends, too – and everything, even a personal issue like this, could turn out to be an opportunity for business.

His heart raced fast, the idea of having his brother back was not just a hidden dream but a concrete plan, and more details formed in his mind the more he thought about it.

_I could do it._

But the moment he spoke the words to himself, his stomach clenched with fear and doubt. Zenyatta didn’t miss it, because his hands went back to his face and pulled him closer.

“You’re not to do this on your own. Don’t be afraid to ask for the help you need, it won’t take anything from the man you are”. And without any warning, he took Genji in a warm embrace. “I have faith in you”.

He hadn’t expected this. Zenyatta was stronger than he’d imagined, with the scent of incense of his robes mixing with that of bread and soap of his skin. Gingerly, Genji wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his nose in his shoulder, pressing his brow to the coarse fabric and ignoring the tears seeping through it.

Only here, in the shadows of the Temple of Mara, where no one watched but the Mother, he allowed himself to show such a weakness; still, he was sure that what made Zenyatta feel so good against him was more than just the emotion of the moment.

A jolt of shame darted through his body. He cleared his throat and sat up, quickly getting to his feet before he could give in to the temptation of looking for more contact. The coin purse rolled under the bench with a loud tingling.

Zenyatta mirrored his gesture and worried his lower lip, the sparkle still lit in his eyes.

“Thank you. Er – for real. You’ve been… well, thank you”. Genji resisted the urge to cover his face again, and crouched to retrieve the money instead.

“I’m glad you came here tonight. And if you’ll ever need to speak again, you know where to find me”. Genji stood up again and hit the bench with his head; the thud and his muffled curse seemed to roar into the silent temple, and when he faced Zenyatta again he caught him with his hand on his mouth to stifle a chuckle.

“That was not funny!” he hissed, but couldn’t suppress a grin. He stared at Zenyatta for a long moment, and roused with a shiver to take his hand. “Here. I still want you all to have this”.

“You stole it”. Not a question, just a polite observation. Curiously enough, it didn’t sound like an accusation, either, but Genji still felt the sting of guilt.

“That’s what I do, but I think your temple needs this more than the Guild”. He pressed the purse in Zenyatta’s hand, and had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile in relief when the priest accepted his offering.

“I’m not here to lecture you, Sparrow, but I’ll pray your journey will lead you to safer grounds”. He bounced the gold in his palm and winked. “But I’m not picky. Thank you”.

A door creaked from downstairs, and Zenyatta abruptly turned around. Genji quickly recollected himself and slid the mask over his face, hiding a smile.

“I’ve got to go”, he whispered, taking a step to the door. Zenyatta checked at the yellow light approaching from the stairs, but eventually reached him. On the threshold, with Genji already searching for the handle, he took his wrist.

“You came to find what forgiveness means, but you know it already. Let your heart find its peace, Sparrow”.

Genji looked up at him, and his blood raced faster under his skin. He bowed slightly and opened the door on the cold darkness of Riften outside. A gust of wind made his cloak flap, but it was easy to ignore it. He took Zenyatta’s hand and brought it to his lips, where his words trembled against the leather of the mask.

“My name’s Genji”, he breathed out. One more heartbeat to take in Zenyatta’s eyes, big and bright and already so familiar – leaving the priest hurt more than Genji had expected – and he became one with the shadows.

He stopped under the arches at the foot of the outer staircase. The guard was still snoring by the wall, and a bright yellow rectangle framed Zenyatta’s profile at the door. Genji watched the young priest cradle the purse to his chest and cup his own face with his hand, a dreamy smile on his lips. Then someone called him from the temple, and with a start Zenyatta disappeared behind the locked door.

Genji took a deep breath and leaned against a column. He felt lighter, and not just for the gold he’d donated; his hand fluttered to his heart, where something burned with a dim, reassuring light.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe Zenyatta was right, and he’d already decided Hanzo deserved his forgiveness – and he definitely needed to find his brother. Talking about it had taken some of the burden off his shoulders, but he couldn’t do this on his own.

He knew what his next move had to be.

 

 

By the time he reached the Ragged Flagon, the sky was starting to fade to a pale purple in the East. Not that anyone down the sewers would have noticed or cared.

The waters of the pond were black, sparkling a dark green under the flames of the few lamps dangling from the walls. Genji walked among the deep shadows and slashes of light without making a sound; after years of training, he didn’t even need to tiptoe to be completely silent.

As he made his way on the wooden plank, he carefully skipped the fourth, creaking plank; the area around the bar was mostly empty, and Genji stopped on the damp stones to check twice that the seat on the platform didn’t sport its usual guest. If there was one person he didn’t feel like meeting – now or ever – was Moira.

It was warmer down here, with thin clouds of steam rising from the surface of the pond; he shrugged his cloak off and left it on the nearest chair, and when he rose to take his mask off, he saw his hopes take shape.

Namely, a thick, black shape slumped on the counter, one arm laying in a graveyard of empty bottles and tankards and long legs spread under a tall stool. Genji ruffled his hair and sneaked among flipped chairs and spilled beverages, the evident remains of a banquet ended hours ago. One he’d deliberately abandoned.

He looked down at the man sleeping soundly on the counter. A good act, but he hadn’t expected anything less from a fellow Nightingale. A smirk played upon his lips as he bent over McCree and extended his hand to his shoulder.

The movement was so fast and sudden Genji could have missed it, but ignoring the blade poking at him a palm under his belt was impossible. Genji chuckled and stood motionless, and McCree slowly turned his head, a grin stretching in his bushy beard.

“You back”, he croaked.

“You heard me before I entered the Flagon. You could’ve spared us this farce”.

“And deprive us both of the chance to witness my skills? What a waste…”

With a grunt, McCree let his arm fall to his side and sheathed his dagger. A yawn rumbled from his chest and distorted his mouth to a great ‘O’, but when he looked at Genji his eyes were bright and attentive, with no trace of hangover whatsoever.

“Saw you sneak out hours ago, and I thought of followin’ you, too – but you looked like you had business of your own, and I didn’t want to interfere”. McCree yawned again and reached out to the nearest tankard; he shook it and gave it a quick look, then put it back down with a displeased grunt.

Genji picked up a second stool and sat with a sigh.

“You were right. I – er – needed to talk to someone. About a private matter”.

He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but fooling McCree was no easy task. Not only he was an exceptionally skilled reader of other people’s emotions, but he was a friend. Probably the best he’d ever had. Genji kept his eyes low and meticulously took his gloves off, all too aware of how McCree was staring at him.

“Then why are you talking to me now?” Somehow, he managed not to sound annoyed, only sincerely concerned. Genji gave him a swift side look and his shoulders flopped.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, and I don’t expect you to understand, but you’re the only one I’d trust with such a thing, so – it’s fine if you say no, but I… I…”

“It’s ‘bout your brother, isn’t it?”

There it was. So many people were quick to focus on that cheerful attitude, and twice as many fell for his relaxed, carefree mask. All those people ended up with empty pockets and a valuable lesson: Jesse McCree was a dangerously intelligent man who thrived I other’s underestimation of his skills.

Genji only nodded once, and an uncomfortable silence swell in the darkness of the Ragged Flagon.

McCree stretched and arched his back. His empty left sleeve was pinned to his shoulder, and overall he didn’t look dressed for a fight – but then again, he was in his place, safe and sound and without any forecast of impending dangers.

“Got news of the old jerk?”

“None yet, but I’m coming to terms with the idea of wanting him back. I can’t be at my best if this… this _thing_ keeps on eating me from the inside, if it makes any sense”.

McCree ran his hand through his hair and smoothed it back on his head. Some thick, dark locks still clung to his cheekbones and mixed with his scruffy sideburns.

“He tried to kill you”.

“He didn’t know it was me”.

“But he still left you to die…”

Genji clenched his fists on his knees and turned with a snarl.

“I know it! But it doesn’t change anything – I fear I’ve forgiven him, and… and…”

“… and the Guild’s been having business with the Dark Brotherhood since forever. How d’you know he didn’t die after Astrid’s betrayal?”

To this, Genji had no answer. How could he explain to his sensible, pragmatic friend that the blood bond that united him to Hanzo was still there, whispering of life and struggle? He fumbled for words and only managed a sigh.

McCree’s hand landed hard on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“It’s fine, man. You don’t have to tell me everything, even if I’m as curious as cat. But why me? I mean, alright, I’m damn good at what I do, but I have no clue ‘bout where your brother is. Why didn’t you ask Sombra? That’s her job – findin’ people and stuff”.

“I trust you. And, well”, a thread of laughter veined his voice, and when he met McCree’s stare he smiled, “she scares me a bit. Not as much as Moira, but…”

“Definitely more than Gabe, I know”. McCree grinned, and his friendly squeeze turned into a slap that made Genji jump on his stool. “Really, tho, she could help you”.

“I know, but were you even listening? I’d trust you with my life, you’re the only one I’d ask such a…”

“My my, color me outraged”, sing-songed a voice behind them. Both Genji and McCree turned so fast their stools scratched on the floor, and the latter let out a soft chuckle.

“Damn your cat lil’ feet”, he said at the short figure approaching. Sombra’s Breton origin showed clearly in her short stature, round face and dark hair, glimmering when a purple light sparkled from her palm. Her eyes, big and a bit slanted, showed no trace of her self-proclaimed outrage; they were playful and definitely too attentive.

“What brings two Nightingales to plot on their own, without the presence of the Guild Master and away from Nocturnal’s shrine?”

Genji pouted and planted his elbows on the counter, perching his chin to his fist.

“Why are you even asking? You were eavesdropping”.

Sombra took a chair, flipped it and sat with her slender arms crossed on the backrest.

“I was simply listening, my friend! But you wounded me – seriously, what have I done not to deserve your trust?”

“You always turn any information you stumble upon into a source of profit for yourself, and while I envy your skills, this is something I wouldn’t discuss with…”

“Oh, right. Better go and open your heart up to that pretty priest at the Temple of Mara. You know, the tall one, with golden eyes and that sweet smile, Zenyatta’s his name if I recall correctly”.

Genji covered his eyes with his hand and groaned. Keeping a secret from Sombra was beyond impossible, and no matter how careful one could be, she always found a way to discover everyone’s intentions.

“C’mon, sugar, give Genji a break. It’s been a long night for us all – and why are you awake already?” McCree extended his arm to ruffle her hair, but she swatted his hand away with a sneer, not completely malevolent.

“Doing my job, big boy. One would expect a Nightingale to be more cautious about not being followed around…”

“What do you want?” Genji asked in an exhausted grumble.

“Ah, that’s my man! Enough with subterfuges for once, am I right?” She tapped her long fingers to the backrest and tilted her head to stare at Genji. “So you’re looking for your long lost brother, and Gabe – and our Lady, I take – knows nothing about it”.

“Playing the snitch in the Guild itself doesn’t sound like a good plan, Sombra. Bad luck falls upon those who betray their…”

“Hush, Jesse, let us work”. Her eyes looked black in the dim lights, the shining spell still floating by her face. “What do you offer for my silence – and my help?”

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?” Genji threw his head back and laughed, even if it could’ve woken the rest of the Guild.

Sombra drummed her fingertips on her chin, and her pouty grimace opened into a huge smile.

“Exactly! I’m glad we’re on the same page!”

“No exceptions for your family, then?” McCree, arms crossed over his broad chest, looked amused, but Sombra was a challenge and a riddle. Genji respected her, but she was too smart for her own good, and with a single-minded, cold focus he envied her. But, all in all, she was right, too: finding people was her strongest suit, and her help could prove essential to find Hanzo.

Pride and calculations held no place at this moment of his life, but he was still determined not to give up so easily.

“Ten percent on my next loot”, he said, interrupting any retort Sombra could’ve provided to McCree.

Sombra arched her eyebrows and her lips tilted in a lopsided grin. A flick of her hand, and the purple light disappeared.

“You offend me. Sixty percent, and only in gold and jewels. They’re easier to trade”.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, girl. Twenty percent, and I’m basically bankrupting”.

“Fifty. Last offer, pretty boy”. Her teeth were a flash of light in the shadows, and her voice a low rumble. Genji rolled his eyes and insisted.

“Twenty-five, not a septim more. And your mouth is sealed with Gabe”.

“Did I stutter? Fifty, or the boss hears it all”.

“Would you really do such a thing? That would be mean, lil’ sister. Even for your standards, and they’re pretty low already…” McCree frowned and shot Sombra a disapproving look. It didn’t prove very effective, because she simply shrugged.

“Everything comes with a price, and you should know it. Fifty percent of your next loot, and try not to trick me with stealing some poor wanderer’s purse. I want something big, or I may change my mind about the whole deal”.

“But this would put you in charge, and it’s not going to happen”. Genji got to his feet and stared down at Sombra. “Anything above a hundred septims in value counts as loot for our bargain. Half of it is yours, and I won’t cheat on the total amount. What do you think?” He held his hand out, waiting for Sombra to shake it and seal their deal.

It was risky and exciting at the same time. This was how things among them were, mostly, and if Genji knew that McCree would have helped him out of friendship, Sombra didn’t have such a kind heart. Pleas and sad stories didn’t move her.

Gold did.

She considered the offer for a moment, then winked and tilted her chair forward, reaching out for Genji.

“Deal”, she declared, taking his hand in her cold, firm grip. “Give me two weeks and I’ll find your brother’s location, be it somewhere around Skyrim or six feet under it”.

Genji suppressed a relieved sigh and pulled her closer, almost tipping her over the chair.

“… and not a word with anyone. That’s part of our agreement, too”.

“Hey, who do you think I am? It’s business we’re talking about, I take this sort of things seriously!” She freed herself from his handshake and stood up, pushing the chair back with her foot. “Still, if you expect me to do the dirty job and take whatever I find back to you, we’ll have to rediscuss our terms”.

“There’ll be no need for that”. Genji turned to McCree and didn’t try to hide the anticipation in his eyes.

_Please. You know you’re the only one I would trust with such a delicate task._

McCree bore Genji’s stare for a long moment, deadly serious, and Genji knew how he was pondering risks and opportunities. This was not Nocturnal’s work, and they were all conscious of what it could mean, but sometimes one had to jump into the darkness to find a treasure. She would probably understand, in the long run.

Genji desperately hoped so.

Eventually, McCree closed his eyes. The following yawn sounded like the howling of a wolf, deep and loud, but then he blinked and smiled.

“Yeah, I can do that. And I’ll keep any trinket I’ll happen to find in the process. Can’t promise you anything ‘bout him comin’ with me of his own will, but one way or another I’ll bring your brother here”.

“ _Thank you_!” Genji couldn’t hold back and he instinctively hugged Sombra and McCree, with such an enthusiasm their heads knocked together.

“Ouch!”

“Watch out, my head is too precious for this!” Sombra grunted, squirming in the embrace.

When Genji pulled back, McCree gave him a friendly shove and adjusted his shirt.

“Alright, then. It’s gonna be our lil’ secret”. His empty sleeve sparkled blue for a moment, and the outline of a hand formed and faded in the shadows. “Always happy to lend my buddy a hand”.

“Ugh, that pun was so bad I want to drown myself into the pond”. Sombra smoothed her hair back, and when she looked at Genji some of the strict professionalism was gone from her face. “I’ll let you two know as soon as I have news. In the meantime, take Mara my regards. If I’m not mistaken, I think you’ll visit her soon enough, and I suspect it’s not the altar what you want to kneel to…”

“What… shut your trap, Sombra!”

“Oh so it’s that serious already?” McCree laughed so loud his voice echoed under the vault of the Ragged Flagon, and for a moment, Genji forgot his own troubles.

He had a family here, and Nocturnal (and Mara, and whatever divine would spare him a look) willing, Hanzo would be part of it too.

That was too much to hope for, but it warmed him from the inside. He could very well wait for events to unfold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, your response to the first chapter was incredible and I'm so terribly grateful for your support - thank you, really!
> 
> I couldn't resist the idea of Zen as a priest of Mara. He's so precious I want to wrap him in a soft blanket and keep him safe and warm. Genji has very good taste (and he's the Shimada with the less embarrassing social skills. This doesn't necessarily mean they're *good*).   
> Sombra is scary, but I love my mischievous girl. Moira will be even scarier.
> 
> See you next week for more (like, A LOT more) troubles. In the meantime, come say hi on Tumblr @valpur.


	3. Sed

_Middas,19th of First Seed, 4E201_

There he was.

McCree brushed a pine branch from his face and crouched behind a rock. He got a more than decent sight from here, and now all he had to do was waiting for the right moment.

Tracking Hanzo down after his escape from Helgen had been quite a challenge – damn, that dunmer was a stealthy little bastard. He’d gone West, avoiding the main roads and crawling among the woods, leaving little to no tracks on his trail, and McCree resented him a bit all the effort the mission had required him.

A short-lived resentment, he thought as he loaded his crossbow. The dart was thick in his left hand, his right clutched on the gears to muffle their clicking, and Hanzo was a miserable figure on the riverside. Their adventure had resulted in a vast assortment of bruises and burns, and it was hard to hate someone so visibly exhausted.

_Yeah, he said he would follow me, and then fled. A bit of an asshole, but look at him…_

Hanzo, in his tattered leather pants, was shaking as he clumsily stitched a long slash on his shoulder. His knuckles protruded, white as pearls, under his deadly pale skin, and he shivered at every passage of the needle; scarlet trickles ran down his arm, and a nasty burn covered half of his side.

McCree mentally checked his equipment. A mere half an hour on foot from there, two horses waited in a cave, the saddlebags stuffed with food and potions. A single red bottle pressed his side from inside his pocket – Hanzo would have needed that.

He felt almost guilty for sneaking up on him like that, but risking his life was not one of his favorite hobbies. A small fire burned in a circle of rocks, and Hanzo’s bow and arrows rested in a pile together with the remains of his armor. A skinned rabbit lay on the rocks, waiting to be roasted.

Hanzo hissed in pain and pulled the thread between his teeth. McCree saw the sweat beading on his forehead, the water dripping from his wet hair.

The elf was in for a surprise, and McCree was tired of waiting. He peeked from his hideout and placed the crossbow on his knee; an easy shot to say the least, the target near enough to see the grimace twisting his mouth and to smell blood and fear.

McCree’s fingertip lay still on the trigger. His breath steadied under the leather of his mask, and he could almost see the future trajectory of his dart – an impossibly fast, straight line through the patches of green and light under the trees. He closed his eyes, listened to his heart slow down into a quiet rhythm, and shot.

A yelp and a splash, and McCree smirked in the shadows of his hood. He slowly got to his feet and took a step out of his hiding spot; when he looked at the river, the sight didn't disappoint him.

The dart quivered, stuck on the ground less than a foot from where Hanzo had been, and Hanzo himself was sitting in the shallow waters, with his eyes wide and a shocked look.

McCree shrugged off the embrace of shadows and allowed himself to make all the noise he needed as he approached Hanzo. Leaves and gravel creaked under his boots, twigs snapped with a sound that seemed to boom in the quiet of the wood.

Hanzo was panting, a crimson gaze going from McCree to the distant, useless bow.

Fear slowly hardened into defying; Hanzo’s sharp features twisted into a challenging expression, and McCree hesitated: the elf was half naked, wounded and beyond fatigue, but he still stared at him – at the faceless servant of Nocturnal that emerged from the darkness of the pines – with vicious intention. Oh, McCree adored his Nightingale armor, and he knew the effect it had on people; Hanzo, though, was a different matter.

A nasty sneer stretched his dark lips, pearly sharp teeth flashing under the sun; he rose slowly, apparently relaxed despite the recent trauma and his many injuries. A flick of his head, and his long hair slapped the back of his neck.

“A terribly bad aim”, he rumbled, clenching his fists at his side. “You must do better if you want to kill me”.

McCree, glad his face was carefully hidden, couldn’t but blink in pleased astonishment. Their dragon’s mishap had been enough of a proof of the other man’s courage, but this was borderline bravado. He tried not to clear his throat and lowered his voice to a calm whisper, controlling his usual accent.

“Consider yourself lucky, stranger. It’s not your death I’m looking for”.

Good. He’d sounded cold and intimidating enough; time to keep up with his masquerade. Crossbow hanging from his relaxed arm, McCree closed the gap between them, until the cold waters of the stream splashed against his boots.

His left hand – McCree’d stopped marveling at its existence long ago, and now it was just another trick up his sleeve – rose and splayed at the center of Hanzo’s chest. A quite remarkable chest, to tell the truth, all ripped muscles and soft skin among the scars. His fingers fluttered on the other’s sternum, where the thumping of his heart drummed against his palm.

“ _We know_ ”, McCree breathed out. He inwardly patted himself on the back for such a cool one-liner, but Hanzo suddenly let go of his stern appearance. His pupils turned to pinpoints, and his lips parted around what was nothing like a grin anymore. Ash and ink, the black of his hair and beard in stark contrast with his colorless skin, thick lashes trembling around red eyes – Hanzo had been startled at the unexpected shot; now he was genuinely traumatized.

“The Dark Brotherhood is sending you. After all this time”. A broken whisper, underlined by the cracking of knuckles as Hanzo clenched his fists harder.

“The Dark – no, seriously, have you looked at me? This ain’t their armor, you should know it!”

His careful attempts at a mysterious, otherworldly voice crumbled in sheer perplexity. McCree bit the tip of his tongue and stopped short of slapping his own forehead.

Hanzo, on the other hand, frowned. And then frowned some more, squinting as he stared deep into McCree’s hood.

“Wait a minute…”

“I’m with the Guild, smartass. The Nightingale armor should’ve given that away – and it was _you_ I was talkin’ ‘bout, as in… you were in the Dark Brotherhood, and I knew it, so…”

“ _You!_ The man from Helgen, you’ve been following me all along!” Some color flushed back on Hanzo’s cheeks, and a new wave of emotions rolled over his face. Anger, shock, irritation fought to find their place on those exotic features, and McCree winced slightly in amusement: such an expressive guy, once his cold mask was gone.

“We had a deal, and you broke it! And worse, you can’t even remember my own name, I’m wounded!” He shook his head and let the cowl fall to his shoulders, uncovering the lower half of his face with his free hand. “It’s…”

“Jesse. I have a very good memory, you know? And… no, wait”. Hanzo frowned again (his frowning skills were impressive; those eyebrows spoke a language of their own) and took one last step toward McCree. From here, he didn’t look that intimidating, with his pointy ears sticking out of his long, tangled hair, a good head below McCree’s line of sight. “It can’t be you. That man only had one arm”.

“Oh! That? Lemme show you”. He pinched the leather on his left middle finger between his teeth and pulled the glove off without ever taking his eyes off Hanzo; he only looked mildly dangerous, but he couldn’t say whether it was due to poor physical conditions or scrupulous calculation. The glove slipped easily from his hand, and Hanzo snorted through his nose.

“Ah, I see. Magic”.

“You don’t seem impressed”. McCree wiggled his fingers in front of his face. Blue, shining, nearly ethereal: years to master the spell, and even now sometimes its effect surprised him for how pretty it was.

“You’re a Nord. Your kind is not known for their affinity with the supernatural, but it's a nice trick”. Hanzo pouted and swayed a bit.

“Hey, darlin’, why don’t you sit down? I’m not here to do you any harm, I swear…”

“How much is a thief’s word worth?” Hanzo snapped, but he sat back on his rock; he toed at the dart still sticking from the mud and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m having a hard time believing you. First, you shoot me, then you claim you’re here on the Dark Brotherhood’s behalf…”

“Now wait, that’s not true, none of it!” McCree put his crossbow back on his belt and crouched in front of Hanzo, elbows perched on his knees. “I didn’t shoot you in the first place, I just wanted you to notice me. I have a thing for theatre, y’know”.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“And second, as I’ve told you already, the Guild is sending me. After Astrid’s betrayal, my folk’s had little to do with yours, and…”

“The Dark Brotherhood’s not my folk”, Hanzo growled, shooting McCree a literal killer stare. “Not anymore”.

Such a strict reply could’ve sounded snarky, but McCree had learned since his childhood to read beyond other people’s voices and faces. Hanzo had stared at him for a second, then looked away before finishing his sentence; his eyes had closed briefly, his broad shoulders sagged, and to McCree, it was as if his whole body was radiating pain.

_I know what you did, and I can see how you regret it. Too bad I’m can't tell you the whole truth – none of my business._

So he simply shrugged, lifting his hands in a careless gesture.

“As you wish, darlin’. But lemme introduce myself first”. His relaxed tone seemed to calm something in Hanzo’s turmoil, whose face didn’t exactly brighten but lost a bit of its anger. “I’m Jesse McCree, and I’m here to take you to Riften”.

“You know my name already, so this conversation is pointless”. Hanzo tried to cross his arms over his chest, but the movement stretched the freshly stitched wound, and he grunted.

“Lookin’ pretty battered over there”, McCree said, gesturing to the constellation of injuries over the other’s body.

“It happens when a dragon acts as a diversion from your execution”, he said, and McCree grinned at the dry humor. Something of Genji sparkled in his brother’s demeanor, a trace of irony hidden in an ice-cold tone; they had the same eyes, even if Hanzo’s features were more aggressive.

Despite everything, McCree kind of liked this man.

_But escaping a dragon makes for some weird friendships, after all._

“I can help you with that”. McCree sat on the ground with a plop, tongue between his teeth as he rummaged through his pockets. Spare coins, a pair of loaded dices, cookie crumbles – and that small bottle, almost warm in his palm. He fished it out and offered it to Hanzo with a wink.

His charm didn’t work, because all he met was a wary look and eyes reduced to slits.

“What’s that?”

McCree frowned – not as efficiently as Hanzo, to his supreme scorn – and pointed at the bottle.

“It’s a healing potion. Red stuff, tastes of ‘shrooms and dirt… you know, same old story. You look like you need some”.

“How could I know you’re not here to kill me”.

“ _Again_? Shor’s balls, could you trust me for a change? I saved yer life and didn’t kill you even if I had more than a chance to do so. Do you want me to taste this in front of you, or spell out the ingredients’ list? Or whatever?”

It was meant as a joke. Hanzo, though, looked serious. He rubbed his wounded shoulder and thoroughly checked on McCree, who almost (just _almost_ ) felt a sting of embarrassment under such a focused scrutiny.

“Yes. Drink some, and don’t you try to fool me by pretending to swallow”.

“I never _pretend_ to swallow, honeybee”. And this time McCree’s inappropriate humor worked its magic. Hanzo blushed a dark shade of gray and pressed his lips into a furious line. McCree, powered up by the other’s confusion, rose the bottle and opened it with his teeth; without touching the neck with his lips, he let a trickle of potion run in his mouth, making sure Hanzo was as attentive as he’d expected.

The terrible taste, too, was not a surprise. He gagged a little and scrunched his nose, wiping his mouth with the back of his flesh hand.

“Ugh. Now are you gonna believe me, or shall we wait here until the effects of Nocturnal-knows-what poison show?” He handed the bottle to Hanzo, tilting his head to the side. “Yer the one whose job is killing people, after all…”

“Not anymore”, Hanzo repeated, but after a second glance full of distrust he sighed and took the potion. He, too, grimaced as the foul concoction descended down his throat, but after coughing a little he shivered and quieted down.

McCree carefully watched the potion work its charm. It was good stuff, not something bought from a corner seller with questionable alchemic expertise; Moira was little less than a monster, but she was a master in her field. Great skills and negligible morals were a staple in the Guild.

Bruises and scratches were the first to disappear from Hanzo’s torso, sucked under his skin until only a faded dark pattern remained on his chest; then the burn on his waist smoothed down, its hideous blisters disappearing and leaving only a shadow behind, and eventually, the gash on his shoulder closed slowly. Not entirely healed, but now the stitches seemed to hold better, and the flesh around the wound didn’t look as swollen and inflamed as before.

Another deep sigh, and Hanzo nodded.

“You have my thanks – but just for this. You can’t expect me to trust you, and after all you haven’t told me who wants me yet”.

_And I won’t. Not entirely, at least, and surely not now._

“Correct, but some subjects aren’t to be discussed on an empty stomach. D’ya mind if I joined your meal? I can contribute”, McCree said, pointing at the rabbit, still waiting to be cooked.

 

 

“So, tell me”. McCree, brandishing a rabbit’s leg and waiving it around, pointed at Hanzo. “Any more dragon sighting after we last met?”

Hanzo sunk his teeth in his serving of meat, and for a second his sour face brightened slightly. Something that made McCree secretly satisfied: salt and spices from his stocks had turned a frugal and possibly depressive meal into something at least enjoyable.

Ripping a strip of meat and chewing slowly, Hanzo shook his head.

“I tend to consider this the least suitable topic for lunchtime”, he muttered with his mouth full.

The first sun of spring was unusually warm on his shoulders, and McCree stretched his back in bliss. The prolonged resort to magic had tired him, and now that he didn’t need his glowing hand anymore he was happy to give himself some rest.

“C’mon, darlin’, ‘tis something we’re gonna discuss sooner or later. Any idea of where that monster came from?”

“The darkest pit of Oblivion, if you want to know”. Hanzo gulped and threw the clean bone behind his back, reaching out to the fire to grab another piece. “And I’ll be happy to never meet such a thing again”.

“Well, can’t say yer wrong. One is more than enough for my – hopefully – long life. Still, there are rumors on the roads, and I wonder how you could’ve missed them”.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and shot McCree a level stare, all bitter sarcasm and arrogance. Curiously, it looked enticing rather than annoying, coming from him. “I was running from the Imperials and from _you_ , definitely not in the mood for chatting with random strangers”.

“Don’t group me up with those who’d have wanted your head, sugar: ridiculous as it sounds, I’m one of the good guys here”. He took his flask from the ground by his boots and opened it with a flick of his thumb. The scent of mead mixed with that of roasted meat and woodfire. He drank thirstily and offered it to Hanzo, who hesitated just a moment before accepting it. “But as I was sayin’, that bloody dragon’s been sighted over Riverwood and Whiterun, and they said the Jarl will give a fair reward to those who will come up with information on its presence – not me, of course, let’s just say I’m not very welcome there, but…”

“We’re not going to stop by Whiterun to inform the Jarl about anything. You said I’m wanted in Riften, and I’ve yet to decide if I’m interested in following you”.

“Dunno, Han, I’m a pretty determined guy. I was told to – hey, don’t finish that, I know it’s good but leave me some – sorry, to escort you there, and I’m gonna deliver”.

Hanzo, swallowing down what looked like half of the mead, smacked his lips and handed the flask back to its rightful owner.

“What does a thief know about honor and kept promises?”

“More than you might imagine”. McCree’s voice dropped to a threatening growl, and for a moment he openly stared at Hanzo.

_I know what you did. I know who’s waiting for you, but tellin’ you of Genji right now would just make you turn on your heels and flee. And I know what family means – I promised I would help your brother, and so I will._

His fingers brushed the back of Hanzo’s hand, and the angry spell between them broke. Hanzo snorted and looked away, the muscles on his back twitching as he stooped to retrieve his armor.

“Whatever. I’ll follow you, but if anything starts to feel off for any reason, you’ll never see me again. I know how to disappear if I want to”.

“Can’t ask for anything more. But cheer up a bit, darlin’, ‘cause it’s gonna be a nice trip”. McCree stood up and shook some leaves off his legs. “I’m a delight to have ‘round, and a good luck charm, too”.

“Good luck? Weird, coming from someone with just one arm”.

Shrugging, McCree smiled at his missing limb.

“It was worth it. A good bargain: missin' five fingers ain’t no big deal after all”. He toyed with the chinches of his armor and gave Hanzo his brightest grin. “You wouldn’t believe how far luck can take you, and of that, I have more than my share, since I…”

_Thud._

The sudden pain on the top of his head startled him. McCree winced and too late put his hand up, cursing under his breath and looking up in extreme outrage. Above him, only an endless expanse of dark green branches swayed gently in the wind.

And in front of him, halfway through his process of fastening his armor, Hanzo chuckled softly.

“Good luck, mh?” The leather cuirass was still open midway down his side as he knelt and picked a single pinecone from the leaves at McCree’s feet. “You don’t say…”

McCree massaged his head for a moment, then pouted and snatched the pinecone from Hanzo’s hand. It was a heavy thing, as big as his fist; no doubt it hurt like that.

“Mph. This doesn’t count, of course”. Another furious glance at the trees and he threw the source of his pain behind his shoulder. “Ouch!”

And then it struck him. More than the light concussion, more than the throbbing spot on his head – Hanzo was smiling. Nothing eye-catching, a smirk half-hidden in his black beard, but bright enough to wipe some of the sourness from his face and to make him look like a younger, pure version of himself.

He stared for a second, and Hanzo caught him, because the usual strict look fell back on his face, even harder than before. McCree quickly looked away.

“I reckon your head didn’t suffer such a trauma to stop us from leaving”, Hanzo deadpanned, grimacing when the leather brushed his wounded shoulder. In a moment he was ready, quickly slinging bow and quiver over his chest. “If you’ll manage to convince me to go all the way down to Riften, it’s going to be a long journey”.

McCree picked his crossbow up and placed it on his shoulder. A bump was starting to swell on his head, but he resolved to ignore it.

“D’you really think I’d go there on foot? You underestimate me… just around the corner is my horse, and…”

“… no. I’m not sitting on the back of your saddle. I have something called _dignity_ , you know?”

“… and a second one for you, something I was about to mention but no, you had to interrupt me again”. A snort, and McCree gestured to the side of the mountain behind them. No matter how snarky Hanzo tried to be, he still sounded fun to his ears – but maybe that was not the planned effect, so he carefully avoided the subject.

Hanzo, taken aback, blinked and seemed to relax a bit, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his weapons.

“Oh. It makes sense, I suppose. And let me guess, you stumbled upon those horses, so conveniently put on your path”.

“If yer askin’ me if I stole ‘em then yeah, I did. But who am I to turn such an opportunity away?”

McCree bowed and stepped back to let Hanzo take the lead, and lingered a moment longer to put out the remains of their fire, kicking dirt and pebbles on the embers. When the last of the smoke cleared, he turned to find his unlikely companion waiting for him, his hair shining under the green light among the leaves. He looked serious, a world of hidden meanings closed behind his eyes, and McCree’s heart sunk a little.

“Stop sulkin’, pumpkin! The horses are ready and the skies clear, I can promise you a pleasant journey”.

 

 

“Tell me again about your good luck, I beg you”, Hanzo grunted, sliding off his horse and landing with a muffled thud.

“Oh, please, this ain’t my fault!” McCree watched his partner pat his poor ride on the neck and whisper to its ear in a foreign language. The beast had started to limp three hours into their trip, and now that they had reached a paved road the irregular sound of its hooves revealed the nature of their problem.

Hanzo’s horse, like his own, was a giant beast with hairy feet and hay-like mane and tail, gray where McCree’s was chestnut. It huffed and reared in discomfort, but as Hanzo’s words resumed – a rich voice, the musical foreign accent making it strangely fascinating – it shook its massive head and calmed down.

“Pray it’s not a broken hoof”, Hanzo said, taking the animal’s hock and pushing gently to bend its leg.

“That’s very unlikely, I checked our big friend here when I found it, and…”

Hanzo looked up with his eyebrows raised and a very unimpressed stare. McCree rolled his eyes.

“… when I _stole_ it, can you please stop it? Havin’ an assassin play the voice of my conscience is unnerving. Anyway, the horse’s fine, maybe it’s just a loose iron?”

“Hard to tell in this dim light”. The sky above them, speckled with tiny, pale stars in the dusk, was fading to black in the West, and the round profile of the moons started to peek from behind the mountains. Hanzo let go of the horse’s leg and peeled his left glove off his hand; a snap of his fingers and a cold white flame sparkled on his palm. “Easy now, my friend, I’m just trying to help you…”

McCree straightened on his saddle and carefully checked the landscape. They were alone, most of the travelers already retreating to inns and houses rather than spending the night at the mercy of rogues and wild beasts. And dragons, too, in the last days. In the distance, a wolf cried out to his pack, and a faraway howling answered the call. It made McCree’s skin crawl, and he felt magic prickle in his bones.

“… alright, McCree, turns out you were right”, Hanzo huffed, still hunched over the horse’s hoof. “No real damage, just… here, wait, sweetie, let me take care of this”. He unsheathed his dagger and the blade glimmered under the last lights of the sunset; a swift movement of his wrist, the tip of the dagger carefully slotting under the beast’s feet, and with a _pop_ , a rock as big as an egg fell on the ground. The horse reared and snorted, but when Hanzo let it go the limp was gone, and the animal nervously kicked the road with no apparent pain.

Hanzo smiled and took hold of the reins, carding his fingers in the thick mane.

“Good boy, it’s done, you’re going to be fine…”

McCree, enraptured by that sudden display of kindness and skill, stared intently for a while. When Hanzo planted his feet in the stirrup and lifted himself on horseback, though, their eyes met again.

“What are you looking at, thief?”

“Who, me? Nothing, _assassin_ ”, McCree snapped back with more irritation than he felt. But was he going to let Hanzo best him when it came to sass? Not likely. “But you have a thing for horses it seems. Learned it back in your days with the Brotherhood?”

Rolling the reins on his fist, Hanzo gently kicked the horse’s sides. His ponytail bobbed when the animal trotted forward.

“No. And if you expect me to tell you more about my days as a servant of the Dread Lord, then you’re up for some disappointment”.

A quick grin stretched McCree’s lips as he proceeded to follow the dunmer.

_Yeah sure, I have no idea about your past or your sins. Not in the slightest._

“Always so mysterious… there’s no need to impress me, honey”.

“I’m not – I’d never try to impress you! Why should I?”

“Stop being so serious then! I’m not leading you to the gallows, I swear it, so why don’t you contribute to this journey’s mood?”

“And here I was, thinking I had a decently intimidating persona – enough to discourage silly chattering, at least…”

McCree pressed his heel to the horse’s side and guided it nearer Hanzo’s.

“Friendly company, good horses and such a lovely night sky: I can’t really see why you shouldn’t enjoy our ride”.

Hanzo snarled quietly and squared his shoulders, but the look he shot McCree was a bit less stern than before.

“Two of your remarks are correct indeed”.

“The one about me and the good weather, isn’t it? I’m right, and you know I am!”

“The weather is good and the horses alright, this can’t be denied. How about we keep our fingers crossed everything stays so?”

“Don’t worry, sugar: there’s not a single cloud in sight”.

 

Later that night, crouching under a jutting slab of rock, McCree shivered in silence.

“Good weather. Not a single cloud in sight. Why do I even let you speak?” Hanzo, at his side, was a grunting bundle of covers; everything – their boots, their clothes, the two poor horses snorting by the tree they’d secured them to – was dripping wet, and when Hanzo emerged from his makeshift bed he, too, looked damp.

“Now how can be a storm my fault?” But the sudden rainstorm that had surprised them, forcing them to a stop for the night, somewhat concerned him. It didn’t feel natural.

“I’m not the one who brags about his good luck and… and…” Hanzo yawned and ran his hands down his face. “… mph. How can we –“

His words were drowned by the booming of a thunder. Hanzo closed his eyes and pressed his lips in a furious line.

“… get to Riften under such a downpour?”

McCree got on his knees and peeked from their cave. A thick veil of rain made the plains surrounding them tremble, and in the dim light of their dying lantern all seemed made of water and shadows. Cold was settling in his bones, and with a grimace McCree massaged his stump.

“It still hurts”.

Hanzo’s voice was soft, not as snarky as before, and McCree turned to meet a curious, almost concerned stare.

“Don’t worry, pretty thing: phantom pains, that’s what they call ‘em. They can get worse in the damp and cold”.

For a moment, none of them spoke, so McCree went back to rubbing what was left of his arm and staring at the night.

If he tried to focus on the bright side of the current situation, he had to admit that Hanzo was proving to be tamer than expected: he was sticking around, even talking about their destination as if he’d accepted the possibility – but this was no big news. A call from the Thieves’ Guild, for a disgraced former member of the Dark Brotherhood, sounded much like an opportunity.

Still, there were two shadows lurking around them. First, the subtle restlessness for the details he was leaving out – on Genji and his secret mission. But right now, that unexpected outburst of bad luck was becoming too much to be a coincidence.

_Is Nocturnal angry with me? But I’m not betrayin’ the Guild whatsoever, I’m just helpin’ a fellow Nightingale._

He brushed the issue away with a jerk of his head and resolved to keep his mind on more pressing matters. Namely, the grumpy dunmer unfurling from his covers at his side.

“I think staying here will only make things worse. Your arm hurts, the horses are getting nervous, and there’s no chance we’ll get some sleep with this chaos”. His voice rose into a roar when another thunder shook the skies.

McCree tilted his head and gave him a quick smirk. He’d seen him at his worst, bloodied and battered and hissing like a wild cat, but now Hanzo, with his hair ruffled and his eyes hooded with sleep, almost looked cute.

“How considerate of you...” He leaned backward and retrieved his boots, and to his supreme disconcert he found them so flooded they swashed in his grip. Blowing away a damp strand from his nose, he turned a boot upside down and watched a small cascade fall in his lap. “Oh, great, I really missed having my balls wet…”

Behind him, Hanzo swiftly turned a snort of laughter into a fit of coughing, and McCree let go of his gloomy mood for a moment. But soon, Hanzo’s coughing sounded more convincing, his chest shaking so much he had troubles putting his armor on.

“Hey, darlin’, you don’t sound good”. He slid his boots on, scowling as his already damp socks drenched some more, and rose to offer Hanzo his support. In reply, he only got a wave of hand and a labored rattle.

“Nothing. I just… need to warm up, the last days have been quite demanding for me”.

“Here, take this. It’s not exactly dry, but it’ll hold the rain a bit”. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and handed it to Hanzo, who took a deep breath and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m fine, just pack up and saddle the horses. Maybe later we’ll find an inn to dry our clothes”. He pushed a strand of black hair behind his ear and squared his shoulders. “But thank you. Is this part of your ‘charming thief’ masquerade?”

“So you find me charming? Aw, honey, wasn't it so dark you’d see me blushing like a…”

His witty retort ended up in a muffled blabbering when Hanzo threw his cloak in his face; when McCree emerged from the folds of fabric, though, he saw a smirk linger at the corner of the archer’s mouth.

It took them little to roll up their few belongings and get back on the road, and after a while, McCree had to agree: it was not the worst idea ever. True, it was still raining, and every now and then he had to squeeze the excess of water from his beard, and exhaustion made him groggy and ready to snap, but the horse underneath him was warm. Both he and Hanzo needed a bath badly, and the smell of wet animal wasn’t the best addition to the mixture, but at least he wasn’t that cold anymore. Hanzo, on the other hand, still shivered in his worn out leather outfit, nose running and hair flat against his cheeks. Still, as long as he didn’t complain, McCree was determined not to interfere – he didn’t look like he would appreciate his concern.

They didn’t get far, tired as they were, but near dawn, the skies cleared into a dull grey canopy.

McCree looked up to the horizon to meet the imposing black shape of Dragonsreach. From here, Whiterun was but a cluster of houses perched on the sides of a hill like many chicks around the monstrous hen that was the Jarl’s palace. After hours of silence, his voice was as hoarse as the cawing of a crow.

“Sorry, Han, I know we need a warm bed and some hearty food, but can we – y’know, move along?”

Hanzo didn’t reply immediately. His face was hidden by the fall of his long hair, and the tips of his ears and nose were flushed red.

“I hate this land so much. When it’s not snowing it’s raining, when it’s not raining there are bandits on the main roads, and if you want to avoid those, good luck with trolls and wolves in the woods…” He shot McCree a fiery stare but nodded. “I’d kill for a mug of mulled wine, but let’s have it your way. Next inn’s ours, providing you don’t get the guards on our heels”.

“Nah, ‘tis fine, I only have an open business with Whiterun. And something in Solitude, too, and maybe in Winterhold – but nothing serious, I assure you”.

“A wanted man. I’m having a wanted man chaperone me through this nightmare of mud and ice…”

“But let’s be positive!” McCree playfully punched Hanzo’s shoulder, causing both him and his horse to grunt. “The rain’s gone, and it could be worse”.

“Don’t”.

“No bandits, no trolls or wolves, and most importantly no drag-“

“McCree, stop it immediately before you cast a curse upon ourselves again”. The new round of chills that made Hanzo’s body jump on the saddle seemed to have little to do with the crisp morning wind. He stared at the empty skies, suddenly serious.

“You didn’t strike me as the superstitious kind…”

“It’s not superstition, just common sense”. A long shiver made his whole body tremble. “Now let’s hurry, I grow tired of wasting time”.

 

 

The rhythmic thumping of hooves was monotonous enough to lull him to sleep, and McCree was inclined to blame his slow reflexes on his state of dizziness. They were coasting the mountains that surrounded Whiterun’s plains, and the moment they turned around a slope the wind changed.

It took McCree a moment to identify the prickling on the back of his neck, and without even realizing it he slowed his horse down.

Hanzo lifted his head and stared into the distance.

“What is that?” he asked, pulling the reins and stopping under a dead tree.

McCree felt fatigue wash away from his skin and looked at Hanzo, brain and ears focused on the distant echo of…

“Was that a _roar_?”

“Oh no”.

“Maybe it’s just a… a sabercat?”, but he knew how ridiculous his assumption sounded. Hanzo faded to a light gray and dismounted, bow at hand and ears flicking up. McCree slid to the ground, and before his feet met the soft layer of leaves, sparkles shone blue at his left, thickening into a hand.

He grabbed his crossbow and joined Hanzo, and together they peeked from the rocks.

“Oh no”, Hanzo said again. “No, I can't accept it, no”. He resolutely turned his back and walked to the horse, frantically shaking his head. McCree would have liked to follow him, but he was frozen in place.

A roar, he’d said. A _sabercat_ , had been his pathetic attempt at a reasonable explanation.

The immense, scaled, winged reality took flight from the remains of a half-collapsed tower by the road, and even from the distance, it looked terrifying.

“That’s… another one”, he whispered, the finger on the trigger going limp. “Hanzo, it’s a different dragon!”

From the tangle of his justified confusion, McCree took in a detailed impression of gray scales and long neck; the beast was nowhere as big as the black monster they’d escaped from in Helgen, but this didn’t make it less frightening. A dozen guardsmen surrounded it, swords and spears at the ready; a single cone of flames turned their battle cries into dying screams, and McCree winced.

“Wonderful. Now there’s not just one, but at least _two_ colossal fire-spitting lizards setting the land ablaze”. Hanzo didn’t even bother keeping his voice low. He marched to his horse, literally strangling the bow in his fist. “Truly amazing. The best news I could’ve hoped for. Look at how _happy I am!_ ”

“Hey, yer not tryina blame this on me, too, right?” The furious sarcasm roused McCree from his horrified stupor, and he turned to stare at Hanzo. “I have no control over those… _things_!”

“I don’t care, one single dragon was more than enough for my entire life – damn this country and its aggressive wildlife!”

McCree grumbled and followed Hanzo.

“No really, I… I have nothing to do with dragons and shit, I only wanted to take you to…”

They were a few feet from the horses when the ground jumped beneath their boots. Hanzo staggered and stared at McCree, who felt ice pour down his spine.

The sky above them darkened instantly, and night fell upon Skyrim. The horses neighed and reared up, kicking at the ground and shaking their massive heads.

“No, no fuck! Stop!” McCree sprinted forward, his magic hand outstretched, but his fingers closed a mere inch from the reins. The horses turned their backs and fled, and he lost his balance. A thick arm caught him and held him up with very little care, and McCree found himself dragged away by a very pale, very angry Hanzo.

“It’s here”, he croaked, red eyes as big as apples and sharp nose pointed to the clouds. There, against the whitish light of the first sun, the dragon was a black silhouette; every bat of its long wings shook the treetops and poured a storm of leaves and twigs on their heads.

Maybe, in that moment of pure fear and little dignity, McCree’s imagination was deceiving him, but he was dead sure that cold yellow eyes focused on the two of them – before shifting away.

On Hanzo?

The creature squinted and lowered its head, and McCree felt a weird bubble float up to his stomach. Premonition, instinct – the moment the dragon’s chest swelled and expanded, he knew, with something deeper than brains, that they had to move.

Hanzo was still clinging to him, apparently mesmerized by the monster preparing to destroy them. His lips moved in silence around words McCree didn’t care to decipher: he just grabbed Hanzo’s arm and threw them both on the ground.

The few trees around them caught fire at once, and McCree tasted blood and dirt on his tongue as he fell down face first. In the blink of an eye, though, he was back on his feet, and Hanzo too. Among the smoke, the archer stumbled and backed away, one arm bent behind his back to fish for an arrow.

“Go!” McCree growled, pushing Hanzo in front of him and pulling the mask of his cowl over his mouth and nose.

“I’m not… running from a fight…” was the harsh reply, and McCree was having none of that nonsense. He simply jumped in front of Hanzo, took him by the front buckles of his armor and dragged him along.

“You idiot! That thing’s gonna kill us!”

“But I…”

“Shut. _Up_!”

Hanzo fought back and tried to wrestle himself free from McCree’s grip, but when the smoke cleared enough to show the dragon fly in circles over the mountains, he came back to his senses. Soon they were running at breathtaking speed down the slope, rocks and debris rolling under their feet.

“No, wait!” Hanzo stopped abruptly before they reached the limit of the woods. “It’s going to see us if we go out in the open!”

Another fireball ignited the treetops, and McCree kept on running.

“And if we stay here we’re gonna catch like dead leaves, move on!”

Hanzo found no time to complain again. McCree felt him run in his tail, and soon he took over, dashing out of the shadows and into the open fields around the main road.

The few remaining guards were coming in their direction, waving their arms in a pointless warning; as they approached, McCree saw the burns on their uniforms, the looks of utter terror on their faces.

 _Can’t say I don’t understand you, folks_.

“Up there!” howled one of the soldiers, pointing at the sky with his sword drawn. McCree, and Hanzo at his side, followed the sound breaking through the clouds above them.

The dragon was there, gliding with unnatural grace over the ruins of the tower, distorting its shadow into a monstrosity of stone and scales. The beast raised its head and roared its challenge to the skies, but when it unfurled its snake-like neck down the crumbling stones, McCree stood still like a hunted wild creature under the cruel yellow stare.

“It’s after you”, Hanzo breathed out. A soft clicking and a hiss revealed he was preparing his bow.

“No, no, it’s after _you_!” He fumbled with his crossbow and aimed, but his hands were shaking too much. How ridiculous the steel dart nocked in looked, compared to such a colossus…

His finger pulled the trigger before his brain could suggest any other strategy. Missing a target that big was impossible, and McCree could have felt proud when the dart hit the snout of the dragon. He even allowed himself a moment of relief when time seemed to stop and the dragon shook its head in annoyance – but it didn’t live past the smile on his lips.

“Oh, fuck…”

“Great, now you made it angry!” Hanzo shouted, but the contemptuous stare he shot McCree froze into a panicked expression when a low rumble rose from the beast’s belly.

“We need cover!”, but McCree had no time to move. Cover, behind one of the rocks punctuating the plains, far from the sparkles falling like drool from the dragon’s jaws. Hanzo grabbed his right arm and threw them both behind a boulder.

McCree rolled on his shoulder and immediately found himself on his feet, crouched and patting his back to fish another dart. Flames exploded against the rock, and he closed his eyes against the blaze of orange and white light.

He was starting to reconsider his personal definition of ‘trouble’ when Hanzo, pressed against his side, tensed.

“W-What?” he stuttered, and McCree turned to him among the thin smoke of the burned grass.

“ _What_ what?”

“You heard that?”

“The roaring, the screeching, the fireball or what else? Shadows take me, he’s trying to incinerate us!”

“But the dragon _said_ …”

A rumble reverberated from the tower, and McCree lost – incredibly – his will to talk. He shared a long look with Hanzo, pale and with a smudge of soot on his cheek, and they both jumped away in different directions. Just in time: the dragon swept upon them and lashed its tail at the boulder, crashing it into a cloud of gravel.

McCree backed away toward the mountains, and a creepy sense of calm descended upon him. There was no way out but fighting, and it was a matter of life and death. The dragon spared him a quick, uninterested look, and then turned around to face Hanzo; bat-like wings spread on the ground, their claws rasping at the tundra and leaving furrows in the dirt.

 _Fuck. He’s after him indeed_ , he realized as Hanzo stood tall in front of the monster.

“What in the Void do you want from me, dragon?”

Hanzo’s voice was steady and loud, his bow held high in front of him. Predictably enough, the dragon didn’t reply and crawled toward him in heavy steps. More guards emerged from the ruins of the tower, but none seemed to have the guts to use those pathetic swords of theirs. They circled the dragon, but all it cared about was Hanzo.

If Genji finds out I had his brother in hand and I let an overgrown lizard eat him, he’ll make my life a nightmare.

McCree loaded the crossbow and exploited the momentary lack of interest on the dragon’s side. Down on his knees, he now could count on a better angle and shorter distance. A deep breath, a shiver, and he squinted at the serpentine figure.

_Where?_

The blighted thing was covered head to tail in scales, but there was a paler, softer-looking spot at the junction of his hips. There, its skin was a light gray, stretching with every step he took toward Hanzo.

His mark.

He pulled the trigger once more, and this time he was rewarded with an actual groan, loud enough to make the trees around McCree tremble. Drops of blood, black and thick, fell from the wound, and McCree stood with a triumphant smirk.

“You saw that, Han? Bet you can’t best me, and… oh shit. Shit shit _shit_!”

The dragon turned around and leaped. Without even bothering to take off, it batted its wings once and leveraged on the icy ground, and in a single, fluid movement he hopped in front of McCree.

“… shit”, he muttered, gaping at the creature staring down at him.

The armored lips twitched to reveal an impressive set of sharp fangs, and McCree abandoned his crossbow, useless at such a close range. The two daggers strapped to his thighs slid out with ease, and the glimmering of steel would have been reassuring against a human-sized opponent. Now they just felt ridiculous, little more than cutlery.

But deprecating his own weapons was not the best strategy right now; when the dragon extended its neck in a brutal thrust, McCree jumped to the side and brought his arm down.

Sparkles exploded where the blade found a scale, but despite the shock of pain that ran up his arm at the brutal impact, McCree insisted. A twirl on his heels, and he hit again, this time finding an opening in the dragon’s armor. Nothing more than a scratch, but the warm, black trickle of blood that fell on his hand was his own small victory.

Not one he could revel into. The dragon sneered and folded back, and before McCree could regain his balance something whipped his legs.

A blinding pain shot through his bones, and the long tail swept the ground, sending him flat on the ground. Air left his lungs, and for a second – a very long, horrible one – the world turned into a mess of shadows and scales. He managed to take a shivering breath and to crawl on his knees, but his arms and legs couldn’t hold him against the sudden pressure on his back.

He wanted to scream. He needed to breathe, to get away from here, but the dragon’s paw was crushing his back. Ribs moaning in pain, hands losing their grip on the daggers, McCree could only yield to the burden on his back. Sharp claws were digging their way into his armor, and he was lost. His eyes blurred with tears of pain and the shadows announcing the end, and his head was empty. Blank, a white canvas of utter fear and denial that refused to accept the unavoidable death.

_“You! Dragon!”_

Hanzo’s voice pierced the veil of his dread. An arrow hissed so near it ruffled his beard, and McCree groaned when he suddenly found himself free. Coughing and wheezing, he rolled over and fell on his back – and the dragon’s paw was still hovering a foot from his face.

Bruised flesh and squished bones became a small thing if compared to the scaly pads above him, the claws opening and closing definitely too near his face.

That blessed arrow wiggled a palm deep into the creature’s leg. McCree squirmed away, scraping his fingers on the ground to retrieve his daggers. He found one, and he was halfway through the movement to the other when the dragon stomped on the blade.

It was still on top of him, but then Hanzo cried out again.

“Let him go, you abomination! It’s me you want, isn’t it?”

Another arrow buzzed near his face and caught the dragon in the vulnerable inner thigh. The resulting roar and jump almost crushed McCree, who tapped into his stock of self-control to keep his mind clear and roll away.

 _Lady Nocturnal, I get it, yer pissed at me for I still dunno what, but please,_ please _, just for now consider helping me. I’ll repay you, I promise._

A vertical position proved to be a relevant achievement. McCree flexed his muscles and prepared to parry an attack that never came – and most importantly, he got to see what was going on.

The guards from Whiterun were gingerly approaching the battle, encouraged by the dark figure facing the beast. And even there, in the middle of the most incredible chaos of his already chaotic life, McCree saw Hanzo pull at the string bow.

Red eyes focused on the dragon’s amber ones, teeth bared and loose hair blowing in the wind, he fired his arrow and landed it with scary precision under the dragon’s jaw. McCree blinked respect and a brand-new fascination away and shook his head.

Another arrow. Another perfect mark. The dragon shivered and roared, and the immense chest stretched into a deep breath.

“You are no challenge to me, dragon!” Straight between the eyes, and the dragon squinted in suffering. Hanzo walked toward his enemy, pale with fury, and McCree felt the urge to slap his confident face.

“If yer tryina get yerself killed I assure you there are simpler ways!” he roared at him, but Hanzo ignored his warning entirely, and the dragon, too, seemed unbothered by his presence.

An outstretched wing cut the air an inch above his head, and McCree crouched.

The dragon was still taking those long, scary breaths, and soon the space between his scales started to glow red.

“Fuck, he’s gonna do it again… Hanzo, _duck_!”

“It’s obviously a dragon, and your eyesight is stunningly poor for a supposed marksman!” Shooting arrow after arrow, a smirk played upon his lips, not entirely sane and yet so charming McCree found himself grinning back.

“You goddamned daredevil…”

Still under the creature’s wing, McCree saw it coil its neck back, ready to strike – or to breathe fire. He did the only thing that his instinct deemed logical: a jump forward, so close the dragon’s chest its heat made his eyes water, and he anchored himself to the scales. One single dagger, one single strike.

He gritted his teeth and put all his strength in the movement. There, where the profile of ribs emerged under the thin layer of scales, the dagger slid in with unexpected ease.

The metal of the dagger warmed instantly, and McCree let go of the grip a second before it turned red and shining with fire – a second before the dragon reared up with a bellowing scream.

An uproarious convulsion shook the monster, a wild jolting that twisted its limbs with uncoordinated violence. The tail flicked again, but McCree was too shocked by such a show to prevent its impact. Wide-eyed and trembling, he watched the dragon lose its focus on Hanzo for a moment and face him again, but when the tail hit him straight across the chest he flew back some dozen feet.

The last thing he saw before landing hard on the burned grass was Hanzo’s face, a small, faraway thing compared to the looming shape of the dragon. Sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, bravery and despair battling in those crimson eyes. His name on his lips.

Then the ground welcomed him with its cold and ruthless embrace, and McCree bounced a couple of times. Something hard scratched his head, and his own scream – he hadn’t even realized he was screaming, too busy facing his unavoidable demise – died in a rattle when he eventually landed on his back.

And the world faded into a thick mist.

The buzzing in his ears covered the deafening noises of the battle, and that brief, throbbing peace was more frightening than the roaring of the dragon or the clattering of weapons.

Blinking and breathing in an agonizing, slow lungful of air helped clear his mind. Everything was still blurred, and his right eye didn’t seem to open properly, but he was still alive.

McCree moaned and tried to perch himself on his hands, but the left one was gone, the spell broke by his violent fall. His hair, plastered to the side of his head, felt damp and disgustingly warm, and when he weakly squirmed and lifted his head a drop of blood ran down his nose.

“… ouch”, he grunted, cradling his missing arm in his lap and making several awkward attempts at sitting up.

The wound on his head throbbed, and when he squinted at the battlefield he saw that the dragon was still there, alive and kicking, but he wasn’t looking at him anymore.

Again, it was Hanzo who had the beast’s full attention.

McCree ran his forearm over his face, wincing when he brushed against the wounds but managing to get his eyesight back. No, his right eye still worked, it was just swelling up for a vast selection of bruises.

 _I can see. I can move_ , he added, flexing his legs and swallowing down nausea from all the pains in his body. _I can fight_.

One of his blades was still stuck in the dragon’s chest, and even if it was not enough to kill it, it seemed to slow it down. The second one was gone.

McCree crawled on his knees and waited for the dizziness to disappear, thoroughly checking on his surroundings. Guards were gathering around the dragon, but most, if not all of them, were approaching too slowly, swords low and faces drawn with terror. Too many of their companions were scattered all around, dead or dying.

Only Hanzo stood fearless, but McCree forced himself to his feet to give a better look.

His quiver was nearly empty, and even if a good dozen of arrows punctuated the dragon’s skin like many needles, that damned creature was still dangerous.

Beyond weariness and physical pain, deep down under layers of seized opportunities and selfishness, a new need burst into a ball of light.

They were in this together, he and Hanzo, not friends yet but comrades in arms already.

“Hey!” A rasping caw, and McCree coughed until his throat ached. The second attempt worked better, loud and clear. “Hey, you pissbaby of a dragon, why don’t you try your luck with someone nearer your size?”

The fall had scattered his darts all around, and the Divines knew where his crossbow was, but he still ran limping toward the dragon.

“McCree! _Run_!” boomed Hanzo, but McCree ignored him. The sun was higher, now, and a single, shy ray of light pierced the clouds. A glimmer in the dull grass, a chance.

McCree cursed profusely as he dragged at a chaotic pace behind the dragon and straight to the source of the light.

His dagger, abandoned during the fight, shone under the dust. McCree grabbed it, silencing by sheer willpower the flashes of pain from his knee and ribs and head, and took a deep breath.

He didn’t need a perfect hit, just a hit. Whatever it might be.

He flipped the dagger in his fingers, grabbed it by its tip and threw it.

And Nocturnal, guardian of thieves, rogues, scoundrels, and darers, winked in appreciation.

The knife painted a tall arch in the air, small and insignificant against the monster. One last flick and it landed with intention in the dragon’s cheek, right under its eye.

The dragon roared and shook its head, turning it to McCree with the deadliest look he’d ever seen.

“Well… good?” he said to himself, regretting what had sounded like a brilliant idea.

And then, when the creature started to walk heavily toward him, neck stretched out and blood staining its scales, the unexpected happened.

Daredevil, he’d called Hanzo. Arrogant, boisterous and full of himself were all terms he’d considered. But now, seeing the dunmer pick his last arrows and sprint side by side with their enemy, McCree found himself at loss for words.

He held his breath and watched Hanzo step on one of the wings and climb the dragon with the agility of a ferret. Up its back, slipping and almost falling but finding a grip with his fingers, until he was crouched between its shoulder blades.

Hanzo nocked the arrows and seemed to freeze in that moment out of time. McCree caught a glimpse of blue sparkles dancing on his fingers, and when the dragon stretched its neck up, he couldn’t look anymore.

He closed his eyes among the screams of the guards and the thundering of his own heart, and waited for their end.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back with the buffer, gayer version of Tulio&Miguel. 
> 
> And look! There's more art! So please go hug the artists too, they are SO GOOD:
> 
>  
> 
> [The cutest Zen ever](http://ragingfreckledbetch.tumblr.com/post/168601796520/okay-so-like-this-is-very-nerve-racking-for-me)
> 
>  
> 
> [Ridiculous bois being ridiculous](https://gaysupernova.tumblr.com/post/168751805702/i-really-love-valpurs-skyrim-au-for-real-look)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for your support! 


	4. Hir

_"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor."_

It was a roar. It couldn’t be anything but a roar, because what else could come from the scaled horror standing in front of him? But the meaning of those rumbling words trembled in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach.

If he had to pick a moment when his shock had turned into a challenge, he knew it would have been when the dragon had stomped on McCree, nearly mashing him under its paw. Something had clicked in Hanzo’s brain, and he’d known he was the only one who could take that thief out of trouble. Why he was doing it, though, remained a mystery.

But now, with only two arrows left in his quiver and the dragon glaring at him, Hanzo started to doubt his own self-confidence. Panting, with sweat drenching his hair despite the cold, he could only stare back. His own reflection sparkled in the huge yellow eyes, and pure instinct blocked any form of logical thought.

_"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"_

It happened again, echoing words behind the beastly voice of the creature. One heavy step toward him, the long wings scratching the ground, and Hanzo saw he only had one last chance to fight back. Maybe if the dragon had opened its mouth wide enough for him to aim at the bottom of its throat…

The dragon squinted suddenly, and before he lashed back to McCree with an inarticulate hiss, Hanzo saw the dagger sticking from the beast’s lower lid.

McCree was hunched forward, his only arm still stretched out after the luckiest strike Hanzo had ever seen. A rather useless one, since it only seemed to anger the dragon some more and put the man in greater danger.

Or maybe not.

As the monster swiftly turned to face McCree, Hanzo saw an opening in that thick armor, and his head started to work properly again. The dragon was huge, but when it extended its tail and neck it didn’t look so inaccessible anymore; there were paler strips of skin between its scales, and right where its neck joined to its head…

His body moved before he could complete his calculations. Hanzo sprinted by the dragon’s side as it trotted toward McCree; black blood trickled down its chest and back legs, and this was the best news he could have hoped for.

_If it bleeds, I can kill it._

He picked his two last arrows and held them between his teeth, sinking his canines into the black shaft until his jaws stung with pain. Bow in one hand, he ducked when the dragon’s right wing splayed upon his head, stretching out to its full span and offering him a first handhold.

He jumped, and his feet stepped heavily on the clawed and yet thin bones that held the membrane in place. Bending his knees, he let go of his residual common sense and leaped until he hit the armored side face-first; blood gushed from a deep cut in his inner cheek, where his teeth tore the flesh apart, but the only important thing now was avoiding a fall. His free hand found a grip on a jutting scale, and despite the scorching pain in his overstimulated muscles Hanzo managed to pull himself up.

The dragon seemed unimpressed by his efforts, still too interested in McCree. The man was on his knees, hair tousled and face pale; from here, Hanzo could almost see the trace of freckles on his nose, the thin scar on his lips.

He crawled his way on the dragon’s back, and the next movement from the mass of flesh beneath him deprived him of his hard-earned stability. Hanzo slipped and almost made the unforgivable mistake of letting out a strangled gasp; instead, he clenched his teeth and kept his grip on his arrows, but when he fell forward he barely missed a bone spike from the crest running down the dragon’s length. He hit his knee on a hard ledge and swallowed the bolt of pain that shot up his spine. Somehow, thanks to quick reflexes he didn’t even have to summon, he wrapped his fingers on another scale and picked himself up.

He was riding the dragon. Whatever his intentions might have been, he was straddling the creature’s back and even managed to pull himself to his feet. And this was epic enough in itself.

_“What are you doing?”_

The dragon spoke again, and Hanzo spat the arrows in his hand. An opportunity, the last one, and the most impossible, craziest thing he’d ever done.

He nocked the two arrows in, feathers caressing his fingers and bow tensing and throbbing in his fist. Right there, at the base of the dragon’s horns, the scales opened on a lighter gray crack any time the dragon bent its head forward.

Magic sizzled through his blood without his control. No time to breathe or to think, only the sharp thwack of the bowstring against his inner forearm and a dancing coil of electricity around his wrist.

He caught a glimpse of the arrows flying the short distance to their mark in a cloud of lightning, and then the world shook and turned upside down.

A booming roar made his ears throb, and it was nothing compared to the terrifying sensation of not having anything stable under his feet. A strangled scream escaped his lips and he fell, bouncing on the wildly flapping wing and rolling breathless on the frozen ground. With what little agility remained in his burning muscles, he rolled away just in time to avoid being crushed by the dragon.

He was close to losing consciousness, the back of his head damp, and a thick, warm layer of blood on the side of his face, but he still managed to crawl away and look up to the dragon.

The panicked, round eyes of a reptile found him, their pupils blown to black hollows of horror.

_“Dovahkiin? No!”_

He’d hit his head harder than he’d imagined on his fall, of this Hanzo was fairly certain, because that made no sense at all. But then again, not even death made sense when it came for that legendary creature.

He’d learned to consider dragons very physical, real entities, all deadly claws and serpentine skin – something destined to a loud, thundering demise. But the dragon, trembling and convulsing on its rear legs, didn’t fall to his side with a bang, didn’t even screech its outrage to the skies.

A golden glow surrounded the immense body, and just like burned parchment in a bonfire, the skin crumpled and floated away. Blazing wounds appeared on the supernatural flesh, and soon the outlines of a colossal skeleton sparkled in the morning light.

Hanzo, nauseated and shaking, stumbled to his feet and staggered back to where McCree was now sitting, ogling and shocked.

With one last shiver, the remains of the dragon slowly fell to the ground in a long chain of white bones.

And, eventually, everything stood still.

In the silence, Hanzo became aware of his harsh panting and the fluttering rhythm of his heart. Limping, he joined McCree and crouched by his side.

“Nocturnal’s tits, you… killed it. You killed that thing”, he muttered, accepting Hanzo’s extended hands and getting up, unsteady on his legs. He was losing blood from a gash on his forehead, and even standing seemed to cause him pain, but a bright smile rimmed in red stretched his lips as he stared into Hanzo’s eyes.

That dashing look snapped something in Hanzo’s demeanor, and the adrenaline rush melted into a fit of giggles. Still perching to McCree’s shoulders, he nodded, even if it made his head hurt.

“I did it. I killed… I killed the dragon. B-But of course I did, right?”

“Boasting again? Yer not lookin’ like a hero out of a…”

McCree choked on his words, and the hand still wrapped around Hanzo’s arm twitched as he took a quick step back.

Hanzo frowned and, from the bottom of his shocked hilarity, fumbled for one of his snarky remarks, but the look of complete astonishment on the Nord’s face rang a bell inside him. It was not the terror he’d learned to associate with dragons, but something deeper and greater: McCree’s eyes were big and round, his mouth parted slowly, and Hanzo blinked in the bright light.

_Too_ bright. Too golden for the milky endless sky above them.

He stared down at his own hands and let out a small choking sound. Everything around him faded at the corner of his eyes – McCree slowly shaking his head, the guards circling the dead dragon, even the distant shapes of horses approaching. He was mesmerized by the shining halo around his fingers, and the more he stared, the more a warm feeling settled down inside him.

Sated. As if after a good meal.

“No fucking way…”

McCree’s breathy voice breached through his stupor, and Hanzo looked up at him. There was a hint of reverence in his dark eyes, something he could have reveled into but that right now scared him almost as much as the thumping of hooves and sharp cries around them.

“It’s… _you_ ”, McCree whispered, and Hanzo shook his head.

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

“Dragonborn”, a respectful murmur ran through the guards around them, and Hanzo turned to see a handful of faces as pale and stupefied as McCree’s.

The knights stopped by the dragon’s skeleton, and Hanzo would have reacted, hadn’t he been so astonished by the residual glow around his body.

A short figure dismounted, and with a great clinking of metal it removed the steel helm to reveal a bright ginger mane around a sharp face. Red and long eyes like his own, the same grey skin and pointed ears – the dunmer unsheathed her sword and pushed one of the guards aside, marching toward Hanzo.

“You. Explain this”.

Hanzo roused, and anger flooded him. He stood to his full height and clenched his fists.

“I guess it’s rather clear what happened, and I take orders from no one”.

The woman pointed her sword under his chin and threw the helmet on the ground.

“I am Irileth, housecarl of the Jarl of Whiterun, and I’m here on his behalf. In his name, I demand you answer my questions. Who are you, and what did you do?”

“I killed that dragon, and this is all you need to know”. He grabbed the blade under his jaw and pushed it down. “Is this how you greet your city’s savior?”

“Tone it down, darlin’. Tone it down I beg you”, muttered McCree. Only now Hanzo realized he was basically crouched behind him, his only hand covering the side of his face.

Irileth dropped her sword and stalked to Hanzo, her face cold and ruthless. Shorter than him as she was, she still radiated an aura of steely authority.

“This is how I greet someone who happens around my city during a dragon’s attack and in the company of _him_ ”. She pointed behind him, and McCree tried to make himself even smaller.

“I sense some accusation in your voice, housecarl, and I don’t like it. Now, if you please…”

But Hanzo didn’t get to finish his sentence. Irileth shoved him aside and stared down at McCree.

“You’re very brave or incredibly stupid to show your face around here”, she sneered, and McCree abandoned his struggles to become invisible. He shrugged and put up an attempt at his usual charming smile, but it clashed horribly with the elf’s enraged expression.

“I have no idea what yer talkin’ about, my dear lady. I just happened to be here and…”

Irileth grabbed his empty sleeve and pulled him forward with surprisingly little effort.

“I remember when you lost _this_. Ten years might have passed, but my memory is long”. She threw the sleeve in his face and grimaced in disgust. “Especially when it comes to thieves sneaking into the Jarl’s palace”.

Hanzo, torn between the confused exhaustion after the fight and his reaction to the dragon’s death, and the furious need to stand in for McCree (a need he couldn’t understand, but it was there nonetheless), rolled his eyes. ‘Not welcome in Whiterun’ apparently meant ‘they’re going to kill me on sight’.

“C’mon, Irileth, it’s been such a long time! And we should celebrate our victory, am I right, Han? Hadn’t it been for me the dragon would…”

“Seize him”, she cut him short.

“What? _No!_ You can’t, I did nothing wrong! This time, at least!” But McCree’s protests were quickly silenced by the arrival of four guards, fully armed and not nearly as battered as those who had failed their battle against the dragon.

“Take him to the dungeons, I’ll see what to make of him later”.

“How dare you?” Hanzo took a step forward, and McCree, captured between two guards, shot him a hopeful look.

Irileth, on the other hand, was not impressed.

“Listen, whoever you are: either you come with me without resisting, or you join your friend in the cells under Dragonsreach”. Her thin lips retracted on small, sharp teeth. “What’s your dignity worth, _nammu_?”

Hearing his native language shook him more than the immediate danger he was in. Hanzo shot McCree one last look as he was dragged, kicking and cursing, to the horses.

_This is not over yet, I promise._

Hanzo unfurled his fists and closed his eyes.

He had no clue about what was going on. The dragons, the creepy light seeping through him, now the Jarl summoning him with the urgency reserved to a convicted felon – something that he was, after all, but in this specific occasion he was innocent of any crime. All he had, besides a sore body and a collection of bruises and scratches, was his honor.

He kept his head high and stared at Irileth.

“I’ll come”, he said.

_But you may come to regret it_.

 

 

 

The hike down the streets of Whiterun and up the infinite series of stairs to Dragonsreach was a long nightmare. Hanzo felt dozens of eyes staring at him, and keeping his head high and his pace fast was an ordeal for his whole body. Something felt off with his left knee, and his hands and arms burned and itched for the bruises and scratches from his fall from the dragon. He knew he looked at his worst or little better, but no way he was going to let this show on his face.

So any time one of the citizens looked at him from an ajar window, or a kid pointed his finger at him before his mother pulled him inside, he didn’t bat a lash and snarled inwardly.

The dragon slayer. The _freak_. The savior or the enemy? He could’ve asked Irileth, but the Jarl’s housecarl wasn’t sparing him a single look; the only time she checked on him was a passing gaze, intended not for him, but for McCree.

The thief was right behind Hanzo, a chattering source of complains, pleas and nervousness that couldn’t move any of the guards escorting them. For Hanzo, such a constant pestering was insufferable – he had troubles of his own, and McCree’s rambling was giving him a headache on top of everything else – but he couldn’t stop himself from checking behind his back every few steps.

“I swear to the Nine, you rascal, one more word and I’m going to smash your teeth”, snarled a guard, shoving McCree forward with a punch.

“Hey, I’m just pleadin’ my cause! I’m an innocent soul wrongly accused of…”

“Speak again, and I’ll have you skip the dungeons for the gallows”, hissed Irileth, shooting McCree an icy, blood red stare. “Last warning”.

A bubble of anger scorched the pit of Hanzo’s stomach. He opened his mouth on a furious remark, eyes momentarily locked with McCree.

The man hadn’t done anything wrong indeed, and the injustice of the situation made his flesh crawl.

McCree looked so different from the bold and cheerful man he’d met but days before – it already felt like a lifetime. Fear barely concealed in his eyes, jaws clenched and his right arm clasped in the hands of a guard, while his left sleeve hung empty at his side, he looked positively shocked about his current treatment. Blood was caked in his hair and beard, and a blue and purple bruise covered half of his face.

“Move along”. Hanzo realized he’d slowed down only when Irileth grabbed his elbow and pulled him up the stone stairs to the Jarl’s palace. Her brusque touch rekindled his pride, and he turned to face her with scorn.

“I’d rather not being touched, thank you very much”, he spat out with as much poison as he could. Irileth merely cocked an eyebrow.

“And I’d rather you stopped getting distracted. The Jarl summoned you, and it’s my duty not to leave him waiting”.

“Such an obedient _servant_ ”, he snapped back. Irileth shrugged, deflating his vitriolic reply.

“I’m proud of serving the Jarl, if that’s what you’re accusing me of. If you’re wounded, I’ll ask my men to carry you”. The smirk playing upon her lips was so full of scornful sarcasm Hanzo clenched his fists.

“You won’t… you…”

The wooden canopy above their heads erased the morning sun, and as they stepped into the shadows, Hanzo stopped and turned around.

They were alone, and he hadn’t even realized McCree was gone.

Lonely, deprived of his only companion, no matter how unlikely he was, Hanzo swallowed hard.

“Where is he?” he muttered. Irileth pushed the tall studded doors open; the hinges creaked loudly.

“In a cell, as I’ve told you both already. Stop worrying about him and leave your weapons here”. She walked in and called him with a quick gesture of her head; Hanzo gave Whiterun a last, desperate look – sturdy houses and tidy streets of cobblestones, a gnarled white tree at the center of the square and, near the walls, the impressive shape of a building with an overturned boat as a roof. His bow felt heavier on his chest, and his hands went instinctively to the smooth wood.

A guard stepped forward and extended his hands. Under the faceless scrutiny of the armor-clad stranger, and the ruthless one of Irileth, Hanzo frowned.

“This is mine”, he said rather pathetically. That bow meant little to him, an average instrument found in the depths of Helgen’s keep, but it saved his life enough to gain a brand-new meaning.

“And you shall have it back once you’re done. Now, if you please…” Irileth gestured to the guard, who approached some more and gingerly slid the bow from Hanzo’s chest.

He could have resisted, but what for? He couldn’t fight, both because of his shaky, exhausted state and his lack of arrows, and the not negligible fact that he was in the Jarl’s palace, surrounded by guards. He let the soldier take the bow, and with a grimace offered him the dagger from his belt.

“Good. Guest aren’t allowed to carry weapons in the Jarl’s presence, and this means no magic too”, Irileth said, turning her back to Hanzo.

Her steps down the immense hall echoed like thunders. A forest of pillars rose from the smooth floor, and the arches they carried disappeared in the darkness of the ceiling. Tables and benches down the walls, carpets of red and green, here and there showing worn-out spots – a palace, magnificent as it was, but a home, too, bathed in the golden light of hundreds of candles. In the warmth of roaring fires, Hanzo shivered and followed Irileth.

When his eyes adapted to the different light, Hanzo looked up from his feet and barely suppressed an awed gasp. The throne in the far end was a little thing, and as insignificant was the man sitting there, whose only detail Hanzo noticed was a shock of white-blond hair. No, he might be a noble, but he was human and nothing more. What grinned at him behind the throne, on the other hand, was another story altogether.

The dragon’s skull was huge, at least as big as the head of the dragon in Helgen. Surely there was a similar version in the fields outside the city, but to Hanzo the memory of fire and arcane words and black blood on scales was still fresh enough to make him less than willing to bear that empty gaze. A drop of sweat trailed down his spine, and his fists felt weak.

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to first”, warned him Irileth, snatching him from his reverie. Hanzo shivered and nodded absent-mindedly; the Jarl was busy growling to a small, bald man in fancy blue robes, but he couldn’t catch their words.

Only a short set of steps divided them from the throne, and Irileth slowed down before walking them. From here, the voices were clearer.

“… My lord, please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act, and…”

“You speak of wasting time, Proventus, while my city is under attack!”

“But the dragon is slain, and…”

“Bow”, whispered Irileth, bending her back in a stiff curtsy. Hanzo stared for a moment at the man in the high chair, with a pale, stone-hard face, square jaw, and a slightly hooked nose, but Irileth’s warning roused him.

“I left it to the guards at the door, as you asked me”, he mocked her; Irileth hissed and tried to push his back down, and at this Hanzo snarled and backed away.

“What? I don’t _bow_!”

“Do it. Now!”

Her stifled, outraged voice faded under a rougher, deeper one.

“So this is him, Irileth?” The Jarl stopped his counselor, whose plain round face pouted a bit, and stood up.

“Yes, Jarl Morrison. I bring you the dragon slayer, as you commanded”.

Hanzo gritted his teeth so hard his jaws ached, but he stood upright and didn’t look down from the Jarl’s face. The man was tall and strongly built, with piercing blue eyes that dug into Hanzo’s very soul.

Looking away was a temptation, but the empty eyesockets of the dragon behind the throne were worse than the Jarl’s attentive scrutiny.

“Thank you, Irileth. Now leave us, all of you”.

“But my Jarl, the issue is delicate! We should – “

“My place is by your side, my lord, and I – “

“Avenicci. Irileth. _Go_ ”, Jarl Morrison growled without looking away. Hanzo narrowed his eyes and perceived Irileth’s irritation, but as soon as the Jarl spoke, she nodded and walked away. Avenicci, the other man, bowed respectfully and took his leave, and Hanzo felt alone in the great hall. Oh, sure, there were guards at every corner, but Morrison was completely focused on him, and there was something unrelenting in his gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asked, turning around and sitting back in his place. The fur lining of his rich robe fluttered with the movement. “If I’m to thank you for your deeds, I’d rather know who the hero is”.

“Quite a cold welcome for a so-called hero”, Hanzo replied with a curt flick of his head. Not a proper bow, but some form of greeting nonetheless.

Morrison didn’t smile, but his pale eyebrows arched under the slender golden circled around his forehead.

“You’ll forgive me if my primary concern is Whiterun’s safety. But I’m more grateful than words can express if this is what you’re wondering. Your name, please”.

There was no escaping the situation, so Hanzo sighed softly.

“Hanzo”, he said. And then, realizing how his name meant nothing for anyone here, he concluded: “Hanzo Shimada”.

“Not a native of Skyrim then, am I correct?”

“What gave it away? Is it the gray skin, the pointy ears, the red eyes or the accent? I pray it’s not the accent, my childhood tutor would be heart-broken…”

This time, Morrison’s thin lips trembled in a cold smile.

“Since you already met Irileth, I hope it’s quite clear I don’t support Ulfric Stormcloak ridiculous anti-elf politics. You’re among friends, here”.

“Hard to tell, since your housecarl has been rather brutal in her approach”.

Morrison pinched the bridge of his nose and snarled softly.

“My city was being attacked by a dragon, and Irileth is smart enough to know her priorities, so she acted accordingly. And strange things happened around you, when…”

Hanzo felt blood ignite in his head and took a step forward. The guards took a collective, clanging stand, and Morrison hushed them all with a gesture; the sudden reaction chilled Hanzo’s ire, but didn’t turn his protests down.

“ _Priorities_? She arrested my…” Words failed him, but at the thought of McCree, chained somewhere under the palace, his rage roared again. He was nothing but a casual companion, but escaping a dragon and killing another one was not something to be overlooked. “… my partner, let’s call him that, and wouldn’t even let him stand up for himself!”

“Good Talos, that man’s a thief! And back then, the terms of our deal were quite clear: show your face around here again, and you’ll lose something more valuable than your hand”. Morrison grabbed the armrests and planted his feet on the floor. “His head. I meant his head, of course”.

“You… you _mutilated_ him? What kind of barbarians are you?” Nausea gripped him. Ten years ago McCree could’ve been but a kid and those monsters had taken his arm for an attempted theft? Unacceptable.

Morrison went white as his shirt and bent forward to stare intently at Hanzo.

“I only apply the law, and your little friend happened to lose his arm to a wound. Irileth caught him, he fought, he lost. Hadn’t it been for my household, he’d be dead by now – the wound festered and I had it treated as best as I could, but we couldn’t save his hand”. He flared his nostrils, scowling at Hanzo. “I would never hurt a kid, but he was warned, and he’s not a kid anymore”.

“Yes, but you were very quick to…”

“Enough!” He boomed, punching the armrests and flexing his arms; thick muscles challenged the seams of his robes. “Enough, Hanzo Shimada. Your friend’s imprisonment is not what I called you to discuss”.

“He’s not my friend”, he retorted, and he suddenly felt an idiot for saying it.

Jarl Morrison made a grunting noise and took his head in his hands. Such a show of weakness clashed with the aura of authority that surrounded him, and Hanzo waited for the chance to exploit it.

“Stop it”, the Jarl said, tired. He looked up at Hanzo with hard, earnest eyes. “I know what happened by the West Watchtower, and I’m not talking about the dragon’s death only. How did you do it?”

Hanzo blinked and frowned.

“How, do you ask? Bow and arrow, and even I don’t know how…”

“No, what happened next. My scouts reported me about… about you absorbing something from the creature. Light surrounding you, a name spoken only in fairytales for centuries. Is it true?”

Cold crept up Hanzo’s bones and he resisted the temptation to wrap his arms around his body in search of comfort. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the supernatural light around his hands, and the odd sensation in his chest renewed.

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about”, and it was almost true. He stared into the Jarl’s eyes until steel returned on the other man’s face.

“I’m no fool, Hanzo Shimada, and my men called you something I can’t believe true. Tell me what happened, or prepare to join your partner in a cell”.

“On what basis?” he snapped. Knowing himself innocent gave his anger new fuel, and he took a step forward with a defying gaze.

“I don’t know yet, but don’t underestimate my net of informers: I’m sure your past holds more than its share of shadows”, and he slowly stared at Hanzo’s battered armor. The black hand on his chest was long gone, but a shiver reminded him that the Dark Brotherhood was an infamous organization. He swallowed and his jaws clicked together.

“Is it a fight what you’re looking for, Jarl?”

“No, I need answers! A war is raging in my lands, and I can barely keep my people safe; now dragons are threatening the very borders of Whiterun, do you think I wouldn’t…”

His words disappeared under a thunder, and Morrison’s face went white.

A thunder indoors, strong enough to make the colossal pillars tremble and to shake Hanzo’s stomach. And yet not a thunder at all: as he frantically turned around to find the source of the sound – it came from everywhere, and echoed deep inside his chest – a single word took life in that inhuman sound.

_Dovahkiin_.

It was like a dragon was shouting in his head, the same sensation he’d felt during the fight, but as he opened his eyes wide and planted himself on his feet, Hanzo realized Morrison heard it too.

The last of the call filled Dragonsreach and died in a murmur, and then in an empty, thick silence.

For a long moment, Hanzo could only stare at Morrison, whose square face was quickly losing any trace of hostility in favor of sincere awe. None of them spoke, and Hanzo’s ears filled with the rasping of his own quickened breath.

The footsteps by the nearest stairs broke the spell, and Irileth appeared in all of her glory, sword bared and face drawn in alarm.

“What was that? My lord, are you alright?” She ran to Hanzo and raised her blade, her teeth a flash of white-hot rage in her dark features. “What did you do?”

“No, Irileth!” Before she could approach Hanzo, Morrison bolted to his feet and stopped her with a stern gesture. “You know what you heard, and he’s not our enemy”.

The sudden change in his behavior startled Hanzo almost as much as the booming scream that still bounced in his head. Irileth was now looking at him with shocked surprise, but she obeyed her lord and stood still.

Morrison closed his eyes for a moment as if to recollect himself, and when he took a step toward Hanzo he looked even more imposing.

“Dovhakiin”, he said, and the word, strange as it was, had a meaning in Hanzo’s mind. Only, he couldn’t understand what it was, or why he knew it. “The Greybeards are summoning you, and all my questions have been answered”.

“And what about _my_ questions?” His voice didn’t sound as commanding as he’d wished, more nearly hysterical with panic. Right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care, so he just pointed to the doors and stomped his foot. “What… who…”

“Dragonborn. You are… a hero indeed”, Irileth whispered, full of admiration.

“Yes, thank you very much, now tell me something I didn’t know already!”

“We can’t”, said the Jarl in a much sweeter voice. “The Greybeard called you, and you must answer, because…”

“Who the fuck are those Greybeards? Speak now!”

Irileth squinted in mild outrage, but held her tongue; Morrison, still pale, nodded.

“I can see you’re upset about this turn of the events, and I can’t blame you. If the dragons are back and you are the Dragonborn, you can’t but reach the Greybeards’ sanctuary. They’re an ancient order, masters of the lore of dragons, and… and I never thought I’d live to see such a moment in this era”.

“But I…”

Curiosity dropped from him like a shrugged off cloak and he swayed. A big, cold hand clenched on his shoulder, and all at once Jarl Morrison was supporting him.

“Dragonborn, allow me to offer you a place to rest for this day. It would be a great honor for this house, and in the morning I’ll arm you to face the journey ahead”. A deep sigh and he stepped back. “I fear we’ll need your strength more and more in the near future”.

Shock and fatigue caught up with Hanzo, whose vision started to blur. The word – Dovahkiin – wouldn’t leave him, alive and throbbing on his tongue and in his heart, but he found in himself no more energy to fight back.

_I must regain my strength, and then I’ll go. No way I’ll let this pompous noble asshole use me for his goals, but I can use him as long as it suits my needs._

The thought cleared his mind enough for him to put on his more determined face; he knew it couldn’t be much effective, with all his scratches and bruises, but it was still an armor he felt comfortable wearing.

“Fine, then. Can I hope I won’t be treated as a prisoner, but rather as a guest?”

Jarl Morrison nodded solemnly and gestured to Irileth, who bowed without any further comment and bolted away.

“You’ll have your room and free access to the whole palace, so help yourself with all the food, drinks and potions you feel you need. When you’ll be ready to leave, I’ll make sure you’re properly prepared for your mission”. He sat back with his back stiff and his legs comfortably spread. “In the meantime, I’ll grant you a favor. Just ask away, Dragonborn”.

That title made goosebump rise on his arms, but Hanzo ignored him.

A favor. But what? He tried to collect his thoughts and find the best use for that benefit, but he only fumbled with mist and confusion.

“There’s no need to hurry. Rest, and then we’ll meet again”.

“Yes. We will”, he replied with little courtesy. He spared the Jarl a last look as the same elegant little man in blue he’d seen before, Avenicci, came to escort him to his room.

That stern icy gaze followed him all the way from the throne room to the guest hall, and Hanzo shivered some more. He heard little of Avenicci’s words, all fretting and polite attempts at a dull conversation, and he welcomed the slam of the door behind his back with an unabashed sigh of relief.

A nice room, with a large bed covered in a soft green quilt and a side table set with a small feast – cold roasted meat and fresh bread, a crumbling white cheese and a flagon full of frothing ale. On the pillow, a set of warm, plain house robes was neatly folded, and over it sparkled a red bottle.

Hanzo sat on the edge of the bed, and for a while, all he could do was stare at his hands until his eyes fluttered closed with sleep. He shook and roused, ignoring the fresh clothes and going for the potion instead.

A favor, Jarl Morrison had said, but what could he ask? He had no desires, and his life on the road had stripped him of any vice or fancy need.

He wanted nothing because he was nothing, just a former assassin who seemed to attract dragons. Not the most useful of perks.

He uncorked the vial and smelled the thick content: dirt and mushrooms, and some bitter herbs. He recognized the healing potion at once, and out of his long experience, he found no hint of poison.

It smelled just like the one McCree had given him not much more than a day before.

His heart squeezed painfully – no doubt another side effect of surviving two dragon’s attacks in a week. He chugged the potion down and stopped halfway through the bottle with a grimace.

Awful. Just awful, but it was working already: if his muscles were as sore as before, the cut on his head prickled as it healed, and the remains of the wound on his shoulder stopped itching at all.

_A favor. What can a rogue ask a Jarl?_

Thinking about the Greybeards and that roar in the air was dangerous territory, too much for his nerves at the moment. He grabbed the flagon and drank some of the beer, washing the foul taste of the potion away; the ale only magnified a hunger he hadn’t expected to feel, so he freely helped himself with the food. Simple but decent, it filled it stomach and calmed it enough to allow him to lay down and stare at the ceiling.

The wooden beams were decorated with knots and animals – horses, mostly, but also armed men with swords and spears.

Hanzo blinked and yawned. In his weary eyes, they seemed to move and shift, a miniature army fighting its own war above his head.

His lids felt heavy, too heavy to resist the urge to sink into the soft pillow.

He fell asleep at once and didn’t dream.

What woke him up was not a noise or a physical sensation. All Hanzo knew was that one moment he was on his back, arms and legs splayed on the quilt and mouth open, and a moment later his eyes were shooting open.

He gasped as if he’d just emerged from cold waters and sat up with his heart racing in his chest.

_Whiterun. Dragonsreach. I’m not a prisoner, everything is fine, I’m alive and healed, and there’s no immediate danger._

But then why couldn’t he breathe? Why was his blood pumping so wildly in his head? He panted and grabbed handfuls of sheets before turning to the window.

The pale golden light of the morning was now a crimson hue that painted everything copper.

He quickly got to his feet, ignoring the vague dizziness from the brusque awakening, and went to the window. Yes, Whiterun was there, he could see a corner of the marketplace, with a handful of people still walking in the streets.

_I could go now. I’m no prisoner_ , he repeated to himself. _And I have to meet those Greybeards, if I want to know what in Oblivion happened with that dragon._

It was a need deeper than hunger or thirst, an urgency that gnawed at him from the inside and demanded his attention. Even if he wasn’t inclined to obey any of the Jarl’s requests, he knew that he couldn’t ignore this one.

Still, the idea of wandering into the unknown – an unknown that smelled dangerously like legends – on his own was rather unsettling.

_I could go, though. I’m not caged or…_

The idea burst into his head like a firefly.

He had no one to call in his help, but there was someone who could appreciate his company. If nothing, because it meant freedom over a lifetime of imprisonment in the best case scenario.

_It’s a favor the Jarl could grant me. And a favor leads to somebody else’s gratitude, a debt I’ll want to collect some day._

A part of him objected that he had no reason to trust McCree, who was blatantly a thief, and a prone to troubles one, too. But if the man wanted to be out of the dungeons and, maybe, take him to Riften after all, he could prove a decent ally.

That, and he was the only person in all of Tamriel who could accept to help him, in absence of any better opportunity.

Hanzo slapped the window’s frame and returned to the bed. He stuffed his mouth with the remains of the meat and chugged the lukewarm ale before running to the door. He was already going for the handle, but at the last time he turned around and took the last of the potion. A limping, bleeding companion didn’t sound very useful.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find no guards on the threshold.

_Jarl Morrison told the truth, then. Good to know._

Dragonsreach buzzed with activity, and ignoring the curious, borderline inquisitive looks of the household made Hanzo grumpier with every step he took down the corridors.

When he emerged in the great hall, he found Jarl Morrison on his throne. Hadn’t it been for the different, not less embroidered coat he was wearing Hanzo would have thought he’d stood there for the whole day. At his appearance, the Jarl interrupted his chat with a couple of blond nobles and looked up at him.

“… yes, do it”, he said absent-mindedly. “Now please excuse me”.

The two nobles, surprised at such a quick dismissal, stared at each other and bowed awkwardly, walking backward from the Jarl. When they were halfway down the hall, Hanzo marched forward in his dirty leather clothes and stood upright in front of the throne.

“Jarl Morrison, thank you for hospitality”, he started, even if he sounded a bit too nervous for his own good.

Morrison sprawled himself on the throne and smirked minutely, tapping his fingers on the armrest.

“You look better than this morning. Is there anything I…”

“You spoke about a favor”, Hanzo blurted out. Why does his idea was starting to sound stupid right now? But it was too late to take it back already.

The Jarl encouraged him with a gesture of his hand, apparently indifferent to Hanzo’s lack of etiquette. A bonus point for him.

“Release him. The man in the dungeons – McCree, I mean”. And now the idea sounded downright absurd. Hanzo bit the tip of his tongue and tried not to roll his eyes at himself. Morrison’s polite, little smile faltered just a bit and a muscle twitched on his jaw.

“Interesting, but I have no time for jokes right now. If you…”

“It’s not a joke. This is the favor I’m asking you”.

“ _What?_ I must have misheard you. Of all the thing you could’ve asked, you want me to set a criminal free”.

“He paid for his crimes years ago, and hadn’t it been for him the dragon would still be there”, he insisted. If he had to make a fool of himself, he was going to do it for good: Hanzo Shimada hated to leave business unfinished.

Jack Morrison slowly rose from his throne, fingers clawing at the armrests and that smile still dangerously on his lips.

“The fabled Greybeards, whose voices hadn’t been heard for ages, summon you, and all you ask me is… to release that man”.

Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, serious. With his hands hidden under his biceps, it was easier to keep them from shaking.

The Jarl’s grin melted at once, and now the man was staring down at Hanzo with complete, cold distrust.

“Jesse McCree is a convicted felon who had his chance and threw it to the wind. I must prove my townsfolks that the justice I dispense is sure and consistent, and this means I can’t change my mind. Do you realize how offensive your request is for me and my whole city?”

Just when insecurity was starting to settle in Hanzo’s heart, the Jarl’s words sparkled in front of him. A bait, a snare to catch his opponent.

“Showing mercy would make you vulnerable in the eyes of your people, is that what you mean?”

“No! But – oh, by Ysmir, why am I stooping to this?” Morrison ran his hands over his face and the crown slid from his forehead. With his hair ruffled and the ornament dangling from his wrists he looked slightly less intimidating.

But only _slightly_.

“Listen, Jarl, I don’t know if there’s anything more to McCree’s actions and I don’t want to know. But since you mentioned your city, is this how Whiterun shows its gratitude?”

The golden circlet slipped in the Jarl’s hand, and the metal disappeared in his clenched fist. A huge, heavy-knuckled fist – that of a warrior.

“How dare you?” he snarled, narrowing his eyes to sharp slits of outrage.

Hanzo found some of his determination and let his arms fall to his sides; motionless, he held his head high and his chin set to a stubborn angle.

“How quick the Jarl of Whiterun is to condemn a man for his past crimes, and how reticent he is to acknowledge that the same man has been vital to save the city itself”. He shook his head. “I may choose not to go to see those Greybeards, after all; on my own, the journey would be…”

“First you insult me, then you blackmail me… there’s more than enough to throw you in your little friend’s same cell”. But his expression relaxed, and with a deep sigh Morrison scratched his chin. “What is with that man, I’ll never know…” He shook his head, and even if Hanzo burned with the need to know what he was talking about, he held his tongue and waited.

“Imprisoning me could be unfortunate in case of further dragon attacks”, he chimed instead, shrugging, and the Jarl snorted a short, dry laugh.

“Stop it already, Dovahkiin: don’t push your luck, I can still call Irileth and have you put in chains. But as it is, you got me. Plots larger than life are developing around us, and even if pride is a faithful companion, it can be a mediocre counselor”. He rubbed his face and blinked, and eventually pressed the crown back on his head. A slap on both his knees, and he walked the three steps separating him from Hanzo. “Come, before I change my mind”.

Hanzo stopped short of letting his mouth dangle open.

_It_ worked _? How is it possible?_

As he followed Morrison down a steep and damp staircase into the depths of Dragonsreach, he couldn’t shake the question away. Apparently, McCree in Whiterun was an actual shocking news, since it seemed to upset the Jarl even in the middle of a dragon problem.

_I must ask him, sooner or later. Maybe later_ , he said to himself. First, there was this Dovahkiin nonsense to uncover, and Hanzo had a hard time imagining an after. Stomping his foot and insisting for McCree’s liberation had freed him from his anxiety, but only for a moment.

The darkness of the dungeons embraced them, only broken here and there by the trembling light of a torch. The air smelled moldy and stale, a mixture so familiar Hanzo felt an unexpected sting of sorrow emerge from the shadows of his past.

The many cells were empty mouths grinning at him with their teeth-like bars. Hanzo shivered and banished the still too real image of dead bodies and a burned cave – a burned life of loss and mistakes – from his mind; no easy task, but enough to distract him from his environment. He missed Morrison’s words to the guards, and barely noticed the man leaving his spot and walking down the corridor.

The hand on his shoulder, though, called him back to reality.

“Let it not be said that the Jarl of Whiterun is an ungrateful coldhearted bastard”, said Morrison with a sneer. “Go, now, and then be ready to leave”.

All of his speech skills seemed to evaporated, or burned in his previous struggle to convince the Jarl, because now Hanzo could only bob his head in acceptance and watch the lord of Whiterun leave with his hands behind his back.

A loud metallic noise rang in the low dungeon, and Hanzo jumped on his feet. Without a second thought – except for an amazed _It worked for real_ – he hurried to the source of the sound.

“… wait, you serious?” McCree’s voice didn’t sound as smooth as it used to, and was rough with lack of sleep, or cold, or both. Hanzo stopped before entering the cone of light from the guard’s torch.

Not only his voice sounded harsher: the day of imprisonment had been hard on McCree, whose cuts and bruises were now a nasty black and red. He got to his feet with his usual grace, though, and Hanzo felt an unexpected tension melt away.

“Order of the Jarl. Out”, said the guard, waving the torch.

“Yeah, sure, and then where? To the gallows, right? Irileth would never vouch for me, and the Jarl can’t forgive me for ruining his life without meaning to, and now with that weird thunder I’m sure they’ll want to prove something to their people, so yeah, the gallows, that’s it, yer takin’ me to the…”

No, alright, it was the same Jesse McCree he’d met in Helgen. Hanzo closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples in a display of distress that clashed with the relief in his heart.

“No, McCree, they’re not taking you anywhere. You’re coming with me”, he said, emerging in the light.

The transformation on McCree’s face could have been comical, hadn’t it been for the recent, rather traumatic events they had lived. His mouth closed with a perfectly audible snap, his eyebrows disappeared under the thick shock of hair on his forehead, and his shoulders lowered. Hanzo couldn’t suppress a grin at the sight.

“… I don’t get it”.

“Let me explain it to you, then: as if being in debt with me for saving your life wasn’t enough…”

“Now wait”, McCree interrupted him, leaving the cell in long steps and waving his index finger. “I saved yours first, so we’re…”

Hanzo silenced him with a glare.

“As I was saying, now you owe me your freedom too. You can thank me, if you want, just don’t make it awkward”, and he swatted the still extended finger with his hand.

McCree pouted and looked down at him, as if ready for a fiery reply, but after some long, deep breaths he seemed to have recollected himself.

“Fine – Fine, then. So yer tellin’ me you spoke for me with the Jarl, and now I’m to come with you. And let me guess, that ear-piercing noise was ‘bout you, right? The…”

“I’m still waiting for your gratitude”, insisted Hanzo. His face was going warm, but McCree wouldn’t shut up.

“Whatever. They called you, and you don’t want to do this alone, and…”

“Who said that? _Of course_ I can do it on my own! And mind your words, I can still ask the guard to lock you back in!” he snapped, and the guard, still holding the keys, backed away quickly against the wall, determined not to be part of the fight. But McCree seemed unaffected by the sour tone, and closed the gap between them.

“If we strike another deal, I won’t tolerate you breaking it, this time. I’ll take you wherever you need to go, and then we’ll go to Riften”. A wink, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, enough to turn Hanzo’s anger off, and McCree extended his hand. “Alright?”

“I’m still waiting for a thank you…”

“Duty first. Come on”, and he wiggled his fingers. Despite his own always looming panic, Hanzo allowed himself an exasperated smile.

“Deal”, he muttered, shaking McCree’s hand with way more intention than the first time. “Now if you…”

His feet lost their contact with the smooth stones of the floor, and his nose impacted rather brutally against a leather-clad, hard shoulder. For being a hug, it was clumsy to say the least, with McCree’s hand leaving Hanzo’s and patting him hard between the shoulders, but something in the rich voice now so near his ear made the gesture feel very right.

“Thank you, Hanzo”, McCree whispered, immediately pulling back.

Hanzo stumbled and stared down at his feet – the alternative being looking at McCree’s face, something he definitely _didn’t want_ to do even if he knew that smile was growing brighter and warmer – when another slap, now more similar to a punch, caught him on his upper arm.

“Really! Thank you, darlin’, this place smells like rat piss and the food is awful, and please let’s not talk ‘bout the company – not you, Jarvis, you’re cool”, he said, pushing Hanzo forward with his hand and turning to wink at the guard. “But now tell me again, where are we going now?”

 

 

The answer to McCree’s question, apparently, was ‘to the Worst Place in Skyrim’.

Or at least this was what Hanzo considered the nightmare of ice, snow, and rocks in front of them. A warning finger pointing up to the skies, with dark clouds rallying against an even darker sky up high.

“High Hrothgar, mh?” McCree said, nose scrunched as he stared at the mountain. “Seven thousand steps. Is it an exaggeration or are there really that many?”

“Mph”, Hanzo grunted from under countless layers of wool and furs. The three-day ride from Whiterun to Ivarstead, while blessed with decent weather and no more bad luck strikes on McCree’s side, had been hard enough already. He was cold, always so horribly cold, and the idea of climbing the Gods-knew-how-many (but surely _too_ many) steps to the Greybeards’ lair was killing him.

McCree, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the freezing air. His nose was pink, as where the tips of his ears, but he walked with his hood low on his shoulders and nothing but his tattered black cloak over his armor. Hanzo hated him deeply for his nonchalance.

“Ah, I think we’ll never know if we don’t start our climb, am I right? Come on, sugar, maybe it won’t sno- “

Hanzo deliberately stepped on McCree’s toes and marched to the mountain’s side with another grunt, glad he’d interrupted the ominous weather forecast.

“I didn’t deserve that!”

“Mmmph”, he huffed, and his breath thickened in a great cloud in front of his face. The fur around his cloak, another gift from the Jarl, was wet already, and this didn’t contribute to his mood, but the weight of his full quiver and new bow was a secret form of comfort all for himself. He caressed the adorned wood with silent admiration, and McCree, rapidly catching up with him, didn’t miss his gesture.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t pick a sword. You must know how to use one, and there were plenty in the Jarl’s armory. For range combat there’s already my girl, here”, he said, patting his trusted crossbow. Hanzo snorted and gave him a sidelong look full of derision.

“Because my aim is better than yours, of course. You can play with your daggers or whatever other child’s toy you carry around, while we adults use real weapons”.

“No, really”, he said, frowning a bit. “I can’t use it – I did once, but I was left-handed, and could never figure my balance anymore after I lost my arm. But you…”

The frail shell of Hanzo’s sarcasm cracked, and he quickened up his pace. His boots creaked on the thin layer of ice covering everything – the dry grass, the roughly carved steps, the truth about his decision.

“I’m not a good swordsman”, he said, and didn’t even try to make it sound something different than a lie. Not taking pride in his skills, even if it was to protect a painful spot of his soul, was unpleasant.

“Still, there were some real good ones back in Dragonsreach. Lookin’ at your hands, I’d say yer not one for sword and shield. A longsword? But, pardon me, honey, your reach is not… well, you’re not very tall. And yer definitely too agile to…”

“I said I’m not good”, he hissed, baring his teeth and shooting McCree a cold look.

It worked, because the other man’s inquisitive expression shattered into a genuinely guilty one.

“I just – I mean, I was merely considering our team’s composition, since, y’know, we are a team, right? And… and I was probably nosy, you got me there, so ‘m sorry ‘bout that, but we could still…”

“These steps aren’t going to carry us on their own”, he interrupted McCree in an annoyed, flat voice. His hands felt suddenly empty, and the memory of steel and leather in his fists, the hypnotic chant of a blade in the air and the way the light caught on the smooth metal burst in his mind. As usual, everything turned red, and his brother’s eyes stared at him in a silent accusation from his own past.

Hanzo pulled his hood low on his brow and walked in heavy steps. The snow shone blue in the dull glare of the night, and he hated everything.

Himself, mostly.

“Hey”, McCree called, his voice more serious than his usual cheerful tones. Hanzo didn’t even look at him.

This didn’t deter McCree, who took his wrists and pulled him back.

“Hey”, he repeated, more softly this time. After a long, headstrong silence, Hanzo peeked up from his loose hair. McCree was smiling, a bit apologetically. “Gotta mind my own business from now on, I promise, but I know yer a good fighter. It’s yer right to keep some secrets, but don’t beat yerself up, mh?”

Hanzo shivered under a gust of wind and bit his lip. If only McCree knew what he’d done…

“Let’s hurry, I want to be up there before night”, he grunted, slipping from McCree’s grip and walking the first step up the infinite stairway on the mountainside.

Everything went reasonably smoothly for the first hours. Cold, yes, and hard, with every step gnawing at his calves and thighs; Hanzo spotted a couple of wolves in the distance, but he and McCree agreed not to waste time in an avoidable fight.

Then the sun didn’t rise. Two hours in their climbing, the sky was nearly as gray as it had been when they’d started, and thin snowflakes lazily fell from the clouds.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a matter of altitude”, McCree tried to comfort him. His cheeks were red, but otherwise, he seemed to enjoy the weather, a bright smile still on his lips. Hanzo, sweaty from the exercise and freezing at the same time, didn’t reply. He marched stubbornly, ignoring the growing fatigue in his limbs.

One more hour, and the situation hit rock bottom. What had started like a white dusting on their shoulders and hair quickly turned into an enraged storm, with icy needles burning on what little of their faces emerged from their hoods. Even McCree stopped chatting, his black mask pulled up to his nose and eyes squinting and watery.

Hanzo panted with every lungful of burning freezing air in his chest and struggled through the shin-deep soft layer, the wind in his ears so loud it covered any possible warning from approaching enemies.

He stopped and hunched his shoulders, staring up the path and seeing nothing but a white cloud swallowing the mountaintop.

“I hate this land”, he hissed. He blinked away the rim of snowflakes from his lashes, but it didn’t help at all. McCree, at his side, was a dark shape, with his black cloak fluttering from his shoulders.

“Honey, we gotta stop”, he cried over the storm, but Hanzo insistently ignored him. He moved forward, but soon his foot slipped on a rocky, ice-covered edge. Panic flooded him when he fell forward – no way he could get up, soaked wet and chilled to the bone – but before his hands could meet the snow he found himself hurled back and held close by an almost painfully strong arm.

“D’ya hear me? Not goin’ anywhere in this blizzard!” McCree’s eyebrows were covered in white crystals, his skin beet red. Hanzo tried to protest, but above the complaints of his dignity, his brain suggested the thief was right. He nodded breathlessly, and with a shameful note of relief, he let McCree drag him from the road.

The stone ledge above their heads didn’t really qualify as a shelter, but when McCree crouched by the wall and carried Hanzo with him it still proved a better solution than limping in the snow.

Hanzo curled up in a ball, hands pressed under his armpits and knees against his chest in a pathetic attempt to save some heat. The chattering of his teeth made his whole body twitch, and when he accidentally bit his tongue the taste of blood made him wince in disgust.

“Alright, it won’t last long”, McCree reassured him, shaking his hood off and ruffling his damp hair. How could he smile in such miserable conditions? “Look at you, the fabled Dragonborn quivering like a lil’ bird under the snow…”

Any other moment, Hanzo would have snapped in anger, but there was no mocking in McCree’s tone, only amused affection, and the word he’d used – Dragonborn – woke Hanzo from his misery.

“Y-You s-said that… a-again”, he stuttered, pressing his nose to his knees. It didn’t work, it was still freezing. “D-Drag-gonborn. What… d-does…”

“Here, darlin’, let me… I know a thing or two about freezing to death, so just…” McCree moved closer and unwrapped Hanzo from the first layer of cloaks. Before Hanzo could protest, though, McCree slid his arm behind his back and covered them both in the damp furs. “Bear with me. Count to ten, and I promise you won’t feel that cold anymore, mh?”

Hanzo swallowed an outraged retort at being treated like a child, but to his supreme scorn, McCree was right. The warmth of his body slowly seeped through Hanzo’s chilled clothes, and even if he didn’t count, in a moment he stopped shaking.

“Come here”, the thief insisted, gently pressing his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and holding him against his chest.

It was undignified and embarrassing. It was also surprisingly warm and comfortable, and after a moment Hanzo emerged from his hood and gave him a sidelong look.

“Thank you”, he grumbled. McCree grinned from ear to ear and patted his shoulder – or maybe caressed it, hard to tell with so many layers between them.

“No problem. I’m positive the storm won’t last more than an hour or so, that’s how it usually is around here; better not light a fire, it could disturb the snow above us, and I’d rather avoid an avalanche”.

“An expert of the land”. Hanzo rubbed his hands together, and a familiar tingling prickled in his fingertips.

“Been on the road for longer than I’d like to admit before I joined the Guild. On the other hand”, and he giggled to himself at the pun. Hanzo rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been here for long, am I right?”

“I just hate the cold”, he said. “My family arrived in Skyrim when I was ten, and they died when I was thirteen. Before I met the Dark Brotherhood, I had to take care of my bro…”

Too much. His mouth snapped shut, and he looked at McCree as if challenging him to be nosy.

He wasn’t. McCree simply nodded and nestled closer, tucking the cloak around Hanzo.

“Skyrim can be dangerous; my da was from here, while mom was an Imperial, or so I’m told – that’s why this civil war buggers me so much. Both gone before I could walk. How did your folk die?”

It was a painful memory, and yet not the most horrible he had. He’d been but a kid back then, and now the faces of his parents were but a blur in his dreams.

“They were nobles in a diplomatic mission, and wealthy ones, too. A good loot for wandering bandits”. He embraced his legs and shook his head. “It’s been a long time”.

“They’d be proud of you. Not everyone can claim their son is the Dragonborn”.

“If only I knew what that means…”

McCree leaned back with his eyes round with surprise.

“Nobody told you?” he said, eyebrows darting up his forehead.

Hanzo shrugged. Water droplets fell from his hair.

McCree sighed and stared at the white wall of snow in front of them.

“Shoot, ain’t the best one to tell you this, and soon you’ll have the Greybeards shower you with their arcane knowledge or whatever, but… see, the Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, is a mortal with the soul of a dragon. A dragonslayer, if you want, and the last one I know of was Tiber Septim. Old fella, y’know?”

Hanzo frowned and looked at the flushed profile. He wasn’t shocked, and McCree’s revelation added little to his knowledge of his true nature. The soul of a dragon? _Him?_

“Well, I killed a dragon, but you could’ve done it too, had you been a little more careful and precise. But this doesn’t…”

“You absorbed something from the dragon. Some sort of power. That’s the point of it, but it’s a mystery I know nothing about”. McCree tilted his head as if listening to the wind, and when he looked back at Hanzo he was serious. “Yer much more than an assassin, Hanzo, and soon you’ll find out yourself”.

A contemptuous snort turned into a sneeze, and Hanzo sniffed pitifully.

“If you say so…”

It was too much to accept, and definitely too weird for Hanzo to understand it, so he kept quiet. Still, a sparkle of hope glimmered inside him.

_The Greybeards know. They will tell me, one way or another._

 

 

 

McCree had been right. Less than one hour later, the skies cleared and a pale sun faced among the clouds, taming the storm and allowing them to leave their shelter. Hanzo gingerly thanked McCree again for his support, but leaving the circle of his arms turned out to be more unpleasant than he’d expected – the outside world was white, cold, threatening and too full of mysteries for his tastes.

The rest of the hike, made twice as exhausting now that they had to march in a thick layer of snow, was uneventful. Such a stillness ignited Hanzo’s fantasy, and the more they approached High Hrothgar – the steps were not seven thousand, and after counting less than a tenth of that amount he’d given up, too busy not falling from slopes and crevasses – the more doubts crowded his mind.

The air was thinner this high up the mountain, and a pink and purple sunset crawled through the skies. In the long shadows, the small shrines that marked their way were frightening, a promise of mysticism Hanzo was too scared to acknowledge. But eventually, when the first stars started to twinkle in the East, McCree stopped dead in front of him.

“Here it is”, he whispered in awe. Hanzo stumbled not to bump into him, and when he looked up he saw it, too.

A tall, dark building that seemed carved in the mountain’s bones themselves, an impossible display of human presence in a place were only goats and eagles could live.

Slowly, he walked past McCree and removed the coils of scarves from his face. There was silence now that the wind had relented, and an otherworldly calm bathed the world.   
Something stirred in his chest as he walked the distance from the temple, and the more he approached the imposing doors, the more his heart raced in anticipation.

_What am I?_

A faint scent of incense lingered on the threshold, and fear stopped him before he could lay his hand on the studded metal and wood. Hanzo turned around and stared at McCree, whose reverent face was nothing like that of the brash, flirty thief he’d learned to know in the last days.

“I… I don’t know if I’m supposed to come with you”, he whispered, and the sound carried easily in the impending night.

“You will. I’m not going to – I mean, they surely won’t let you freeze here”, Hanzo said with more force than he felt.

“Darlin’, yer the Dragonborn, not me. And if…”

The doors creaked and opened, and Hanzo reached for his bow. But the warm air from the temple, blowing from a different, deeper silence inside, spoke of wisdom and peace, not of violence.

“ _Come_ ”, said an old, deep voice from the temple.

And to this call, Hanzo couldn’t but reply. He waited until McCree had reached him, still shocked but with his hand ready on the hilt of his dagger – a protective gesture, defying superstition and fear – and took a deep breath.

One last step, and High Hrothgar welcomed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we go again: a grumpy (but with a soft core) dunmer, a thief with a bad luck problem, a jarl with more than his share of secrets - all to be revealed in due time.  
> I wish you all the best for the year to come: great friends at your side, full pockets, good health for you and your families, pets included, and lots of asses to successfully kick. Thank you!


	5. Hen

_I’m not supposed to be here._

The thought echoed under the stone ceiling. The many braziers provided an almost unhealthy warmth, suffocating now that the chill of the night was melting, but did little to light up the black walls. Hanzo was still shaking at his side, and McCree unconsciously summoned his ethereal hand.

_I’m not supposed to be here, but I ain’t abandonin’ you either._

The shadows at the far end of the hall thickened into four lanky figures, and McCree clenched his teeth against the furious beating of his heart.

Fear and respect mixed, and his instinct battled his wits as he watched the four old men, clad in tattered dark robes, walk toward them.

“Is it them? The Greybeards?” Hanzo whispered, taking a step back until he was basically standing on McCree’s feet.

“Well, they live here, they’re old, and I spot four sets of gray facial hair – the odds seem pretty high”.

The Greybeards moved in silent steps, the frayed hem of their robes murmuring against the smooth tiles of the floor.

“You’re the Nord, here, what do I do now?”

“Hey, I ain’t the one straight outta legends! D’you think I…”

“So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age”. The wiseman’s voice rumbled under the dark ceiling, ancient and powerful enough to shake McCree’s bones and make his knees weak. He would’ve fallen into a deep bow, but Hanzo’s hand clenched on his forearm and squeezed hard. They shared a long look full of meanings – most of which revolved around the panic of the unknown, the subtle fear of that weird place and the confusion of what etiquette was adequate for what looked like an ancient magical order – until McCree gently pushed Hanzo forward with a reassuring pat on his hand.

“He’s talkin’ to you, sugar”, he breathed out, and Hanzo shook his head, eyes round in his gray face. “You can do it”.

An intrusive thought bubbled in McCree’s mind.

 _Pretty_.

He swallowed that single word, wrung from his soul at the sight of Hanzo’s lips, slightly parted in anticipation, his ruffled hair, the droplets of melting ice in his beard. When the elf blinked and nodded, getting some of his stern composure back, McCree reluctantly let him go.

 _Well, he_ is _pretty. Only, I shouldn’t be seein’ it right now…_

Hanzo took a deep breath that made his shoulders rise and fall under his furs, and then slowly shrugged off one of his cloaks. Now he looked less like a bundle of rags and more like a warrior, and some of this change reflected in his attitude. He threw his hair back and walked to the old men, silent and still. Waiting.

“You summoned me. What do you want? What is a Dragonborn, what’s with those dragons and…”

The Greybeard who’d spoken held out a bony hand and frowned. His lined face looked intimidating, but when he blinked his eyes were blue and gentle, as was his voice – despite the supernatural ring it held.

“Customs must be followed. All your questions will be answered in due time, but first we must know if you really have the gift”. His hands disappeared into the depths of his ample sleeves. “Show us. Let us hear your voice”.

“You heard it, I’m talking to you right now! How can this be… this…”

Hanzo stuttered and his back straightened visibly. McCree, aware of how profane his gesture could have been, stepped at his side.

His breath caught in his throat. Hanzo was still shocked, but fear was making way for wonder on his face, and a faint golden light surrounded him.

The old man smiled and made an encouraging gesture with his head.

“Do it. It’s stirring to be free, I can feel it”, and McCree had no idea what he was talking about.

But then Hanzo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and when he opened his mouth, what fell from his lips was not his voice – not a word, not a mortal sound.

For all the gold in the entirety of Tamriel, he couldn’t have told what Hanzo shouted. Brief as it was, the vibration in the air seemed to shake the foundations of High Hrothgar itself, and the four sages stumbled backward. The one who’d welcomed them downright fell flat on his ass, and Hanzo quickly covered his mouth with his hands.

McCree shot him a rapid look and ran to the Greybeard, offering him his arm and helping him back to his feet.

“Are you alright? ‘m sorry, I’m sure my friend meant no harm – right, Hanzo? Tell ‘em”.

“I… I have no idea what… what happened…”

But the Greybeards seemed pleased. Hanging from McCree’s shoulder, the wiseman swatted the hood that had fallen on his eyes and patted McCree’s arm.

“Thank you, lad, we’re fine. And you”, he continued, freeing himself from McCree’s hand and losing that air of fragility the moment his eyes focused on Hanzo, “you are Dragonborn indeed. Welcome to High Hrothgar”.

McCree suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, or where to stand, or why his own feet felt so ridiculous, planted on the floor like that.

 _I’m not supposed to be here_ , but he still walked to Hanzo and quietly stood behind him.

“Apologies. You asked me to do something I don’t quite understand, and I hope I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Hanzo clenched his fists, but the Greybeards all smiled kindly to him.

“I’m Master Arngeir, and I speak for the Greybeards: Borri, Wulfgar, Einharth, whose voices are too powerful for mortal ears”.

“Oh great. So you’re the ones who screamed so loud we heard you all the way from Whiterun?”

At Hanzo’s snappy tone, McCree flinched, but Arngeir only nodded in approval.

“We are, and I see you’re starting to understand. But now tell us, Dragonborn: why have you come here?”

“What?” Hanzo shook his head and bared his teeth. “You summoned me! I didn’t walk your poorly numbered infinite steps just to be mocked or…”

“Sugar, not like this. Yer talkin’ to little less than legends, show some res…”

“ _Respect_? I killed a dragon, and something of that monster now is inside me, I have no clue what everyone wants from me but it seems to be a lot, and now I have to suffer such pointless questions?”

“A most clear reply”, Arngeir said with a slight bow. “You’re here to find what being Dragonborn means, and the Greybeards will guide you in your pursuit, as we’ve sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood before you”.

McCree’s skin crawled with premonition. History was being made in this very place, and despite being but a witness, he still felt part of something bigger. When Hanzo turned to look at him with a face of utter confusion, he just nodded and winked.

“But I…”

“Your training starts here today, Dragonborn. But it’s not a path for the common eyes”. Arngeir stared at McCree.

Hanzo didn’t miss it.

“No way, if I’m staying he stays, too!”

“Hanzo, don’t…”

“Don’t _Hanzo don’t_ me! My life was perfectly fine – well, except for the execution part – before you entered it, and now I’m stuck with dragons and ancient magic and whatever. We’re in this together!”

“I know, and I’m not leavin’ you – I’m still to take you to Riften, remember? But…”

“No _buts_!” Hanzo’s deep voice cracked with tension, and he snarled in McCree's face.

_A spoiled brat. Shadows take me, I like this._

He placed his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders. The left one’s blue glow made the elf’s gray skin almost pearly, his high cheekbones even sharper.

“Hanzo, it’s fine. Some mysteries are not for me to uncover, but I’ll wait for you, if the Greybeards will allow me to…”

“It’s the very least they could do! I won’t let them kick you out in the night, you owe me your life!”

“He can stay here, Dragonborn. We don’t receive visitors often, and we tend to discourage this practice, but we’re not heartless monsters who would let a tired man alone in the snow”. Arngeir was grinning under his thick mustache, and McCree was almost sure he saw him wink. “He’ll have a room, and once the first part of your training is done, you’ll be reunited”.

“See? No big deal. I’ll be near if you need me”.

“Of course I won’t need you, I was just making sure you wouldn’t sneak out!”

“Yer one to talk! Last time I checked, I was not the one who ran away from…”

Hanzo interrupted him by stabbing his chest with his index finger. Now that his vulnerable look was gone in favor of a grumpy, stubborn expression, McCree couldn’t suppress an affectionate shadow from his smile.

“Enough with that stuff. Just… just behave, don’t take anything that isn’t yours and don’t expect me to drag you out of trouble again”.

McCree snorted with amusement and took a step back.

“I’ll be the personification of a good boy itself, cross my heart. It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see”.

Hanzo looked him straight in the eye for an endless moment, and a sparkle of his softer core flashed in the blink of his long lashes. Then he took one deep breath, squared his shoulders and turned to the Greybeards.

“I’m ready. Let’s do it”.

And with this, McCree was left alone. Watching Hanzo walk away, escorted by Arngeir who kept on talking to him about how he was unnaturally skilled in the way of the Thu’um, an art that required other people years of training to master, broke the seal of his resistance. Tired from the stress of the last days and the long march, he let his magic arm sizzle and disappear, and he walked to one of the braziers.

The heat quickly made him sleepy, and he was almost dozing off when a light hand touched his shoulder. He turned sharply to see an old face smiling at him – no way he could recall who of the other three Greybeards this one was. The man gently pushed him forward without a word, and McCree blinked to stay awake as he was led to a side corridor and a hard, crude bed. Still, there were quilts and pelts to keep him warm, a mug of something that smelled like herbs and honey, and some dry meat and hard bread on a plate.

“Thank you, I – er – I’ll be here, so if you…”

But when he turned, the Greybeard was gone.

He sighed and sat on the bed, the straw cracking under his weight, and took in the complete silence of the temple. Hanzo and the others couldn’t be very far, and yet he couldn’t hear them.

He suddenly felt very lonely, but promptly shrugged the sensation away.

_I’m tired and the aftermath of the dragons’ business is affecting me. Can’t wait to see Genji’s face when he’ll find out his brother is the Dragonborn._

The thought, as comforting as it was meant to be, fell heavy in his heart. Something felt off, a curious sensation he was not accustomed to.

When he lay down, his arm under his head, his hunger was gone.

_It’s gonna be a long night. And Nocturnal knows how long this training will take…_

Gabe and the others didn’t know about his mission, but after three weeks Genji was likely to have told them the truth.

And then why was he feeling so weird?

Was that guilt?

The word flashed in his mind, but sleep claimed him, and he closed his eyes on his troubled mind.

 

He woke up with a start after what could have been a full night or a handful of minutes. The hand on his arm was heavy, and the way it shook him not very mystical, so when he looked up and saw Hanzo looming over him he couldn’t call himself surprised.

“Oh, here you are. A break from your dragon lessons?”

Hanzo looked exhausted, with deep shadows under his eyes and his lips pressed in a tight line. He poked him some more squinted.

“Get up, we’re leaving”.

McCree, suddenly fully awake, sat up and stared at him.

“What? Did you have a quarrel with the old guys? Please tell me you didn’t, we need to…”

“No, I’m done. They – They say there’s not much they can teach me right now, and they want something in return for their guidance”. He lifted his shoulder, and McCree noticed the bag hanging on his back. With his cloak wrapped around his body and his hair tied back in a tidy bun, he looked ready to leave indeed.

He rubbed his fist on his eyes and checked around until he found a tall, slender window. The light coming from the outside was gray and flat.

“You done already?” he asked, standing up and stretching his back. “’Tis pretty early, I expected… dunno, some days at least. And now it’s not even dawn, why…”

“The Greybeards won’t teach me anything else until I bring them some relic of their order”. Hanzo rolled his eyes and pouted. “That’s your field of expertise, isn’t it? Digging into ruins and tombs and finding stuff. When you’re not too busy cutting other people’s pouches”.

McCree ruffled his hair and retrieved his cloak, fallen from his back during his ridiculously short sleep.

“I’m above such petty crimes, darlin’, but you got me there: hunting for treasure is my specialty. And…”

The realization dawned in his brain in a blaze of light.

Pinecones. Lame horses. Bad weather. Unfortunate meetings with Whiterun guards – all that bad luck couldn’t be fortuitous.

His mouth opened slowly, and Hanzo’s face in front of him morphed into a more delicate, way more dangerous feminine one.

_My Lady, I’m a dumbass._

He grabbed Hanzo’s arm and shook him a bit, something that took the elf off guard. Hanzo’s teeth chattered and he blinked as McCree stooped over him.

“Where are we goin’? I’ll take you anywhere, I swear, and whatever old trinket yer after will be yours, but I – _we_ need you to let me take any gold or valuable stuff we run into. It’s really important!”

“Are you… McCree, stop manhandling me!” He swatted McCree’s hand away and shook his head. “We’re talking about dragons threatening to destroy the land and all you can think of is the loot?”

His voice sounded disappointed, but McCree insisted.

“It’s more than this – look, told ya ‘bout my supposed good luck, didn’t I? If we want it back, and I daresay we need some of it at the moment, I gotta refill the Guild’s vault. Can you trust me? Please…”

Hanzo frowned and stared for a long time at what McCree knew was his best pleading face, and eventually he sighed.

“Mph. As you wish, but don’t expect me to save you from any bandit or trap you fall into while you make heart-eyes to some pile of shiny stuff”. He gave one last look at the halls of High Hrothgar, then walked stiffly to the doors. “Now hurry up. The way to Ustengrav is long”.

 

 

During the long days it took them to walk North to the ancient tomb of Ustengrav, McCree learned that Jurgen Windcaller was the fabled first of the Greybeards, and how his horn had been buried with him after his mysterious death.

Most importantly, though, he listened as Hanzo talked in a serious voice about how him being the Dragonborn meant something big was expected of him. This seemed to unsettle the elf, who still refused to give details about his past – not that McCree needed them – and was prone to fall into the pit of his self-deprecation every time he was not being a snarky little bastard.

To his surprise, McCree found he adored when Hanzo outsassed him, and their frequent bickering always ended up bringing a thin smile on the dunmer lips.

It was late in the morning of their sixth day on the road when they stopped by a clearing in the forest. A blunt hill rose from the ground, surrounded by tall black pines and the first flowers of spring.

“Well, guess that’s it”, said McCree, picking a dart from his quiver and clicking it in place with a grin. “Ustengrav, at your service”.

Hanzo emerged from the bushes at his side, deadly serious and with his bow at the ready.

“I doubt the Greybeard would’ve given me incorrect directions, and the map seems to confirm it… I suppose you’re right”, he whispered. So they approached the tomb, light on their feet and barely daring to breathe, around them only the chirping of birds in the crisp air.

No signs of danger or of human presence, and this made McCree more nervous than he wanted to admit.

_If I can’t see it, how can I shoot it?_

The quiet around the cairn suddenly felt uncanny, and when Hanzo crouched to look down the short wooden staircase, McCree saw him tense.

His suspicions became real, and he knelt down to stare at the bottom of the well.

A corpse lay on the stones, a man in a leather armor, arms and legs splayed in a puddle of dried blood.

“Someone’s been here already”, whispered Hanzo, his ears twitching in search of tale-telling signs of enemies nearby. McCree scanned the scene – the man had been dead for a day at least, but not much more: no wild animal had come to feast on his body, but he looked too pale and limp to be fresh of the day.

“And not a long time ago”, he breathed out back. He summoned his ghost arm and grabbed the stone parapet, lifting himself up and jumping over it to land halfway down the stairs. The wooden plank creaked under his feet, and from here he could see no footprints or other clues. Hanzo joined him with a muffled thud, and together they walked down to the dead man.

“A clean job”, said the elf, crouching to examine the corpse. “But not that of an assassin”. He pointed at the long gash opening the man’s torso from his right shoulder to his left side, and prodded at the cold flesh.

McCree spared an unimpressed look at the man and walked to the heavy iron door.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, cautiously walking to the threshold and inspecting the keyhole. It was locked, but he sensed no traps nearby.

“Whoever killed this man fought him face to face, and considering the situation I can imagine them calling him out”. He stood up and poked the man’s side with his boot. “An honorable fight. A trained assassin would’ve just slit this poor sod’s throat, or stuck an arrow in his chest”.

“Makes sense, and yer the expert when it comes to killing people, here”. McCree sat on the cold floor and slid his fingers behind his belt until he found the thin, metal instrument he needed.

“This one was mounting guard, and he was bad at it”. Hanzo circled the corpse and kicked an empty green bottle; McCree turned at the clinking sound and saw some leftover wine trickle on the ground. “Drunk. An easy kill, but our culprit wanted to give him a chance to fight back”.

“Damn those pompous guys, mh?” He rolled the lockpick in his palm and stuck it in the keyhole, feeling the clicking of the gears tremble in his fingers. Hanzo’s shadow fell over him, and McCree turned his head. “D’ya mind? Tryina get shit done, here”.

“Pain in the ass", he grunted, but he moved to the side, staring at McCree’s handiwork.

The lockpick caught into the gears of the lock, and McCree, biting the tip of his tongue, listened to the sound it made.

 _Not yet,_ he thought. He meticulously turned his wrist, and the metal bent in his hand. _Almost there…_

The tension broke with a click, and the door moaned open. McCree grinned and stood up, pointing at his success with both his hands.

“Ta-dah!”

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“You were quick”, he said, and McCree chuckled softly.

“Nobody’s faster than me”, and when Hanzo’s cheeks puffed with barely contained laughter he realized his mistake. He hurried to follow him inside, his face unpleasantly warm despite the cold wind. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant! I just…”

“Hush now, McCree. In case you missed it, we’re not venturing into an empty tomb, and it's not the best moment to discuss your - er - athletic merits”, but despite his curt tone, his eyes were still crinkling at the corners. McCree, unbelievably at loss for words, followed him in the darkness with his head light and his heart trotting in his chest.

Ustengrav welcomed them with a whiff of stale, freezing air and distant reek of death. McCree halted and scrunched his nose, and when his eyes adapted to the shadows he saw something near his foot.

He toed at it with the tip of his boot and winced inwardly when a long bone rolled down the stones sinking in the depths of the burial site.

_Well, quite predictable: it’s a tomb. Dead people in a tomb are fine._

Hanzo slithered in silence in the narrow corridor, but stopped before a round archway. McCree didn’t need to ask him why, because the faint glow of flames from what looked like a vast hall stroke him too.

As Hanzo stood against one of the columns with his back to the wall, shooting quick glances at the open space in front of them, McCree did the same on the other side of the arch.

In the distance, the rhythmic beating of a pickaxe resonated under the cave’s ceiling.

McCree peeked from behind the column and counted. Under the light of some lanterns, three figures in leather were digging for rocks and ores, under the supervision of two tall people clad in black.

“Five of them”, he mouthed, splaying his fingers at Hanzo. But after one focused glance, the elf shook his head.

“Two”, he muttered, nocking an arrow and aiming. McCree shrugged off his vague confusion and looked at the target the arrow was pointing at.

The guy in black.

_Pretty, sassy and smart. This Shimada is much more than I’d expected._

He loaded his crossbow and lifted it until the second shape in flowing dark robes was in his line of sight.

Hanzo shot first. The _thwack_ from his bow snapped in the echoing void of the cave, and before his target could turn to the source of the sound, the arrow dug its way through flesh and organs. The stranger arched back and slowly sunk down, and McCree didn’t wait for him to fall on his face. He pulled the trigger the moment the second figure revealed himself as a mage, but the sparkle of lightning in his hands died with its caster as the dart hit him straight in the throat.

As the two sorcerers quickly died on the floor, the three miners trembled and fell with a collective gasp, and McCree, still clutching his crossbow, had the final proof of Hanzo’s deduction.

“Fuck me sideways, necromancers!” he hissed. Hanzo nodded, and they both reloaded before stepping into the hall.

“And three undead, but I still think the one who killed the guard was not one of the bunch”, he said, cautiously checking the area. His theory proved correct once they got to examine their victims: the two necromancers lay in a puddle of blood, and the one Hanzo’d hit was still reeling weakly, the arrow sticking from his lower back. Absent-mindedly, McCree unsheathed his dagger and grabbed him by his hair – an altmer, emaciated and wrinkled. When the blade cut his throat, the mage spurted out a fountain of blood and stopped squirming, and even the last of his gasp quieted down.

“They didn’t even know the guy outside was dead”, he pointed out, wiping his bloodied hand on the back of the corpse. He stood up and watched Hanzo make his way to a side corridor, and quickly jumped over the body to reach him.

They descended down another flight of stairs into a maze of rooms all filled with that awful blend of rotting flesh and old dust; torches hung from the walls, and Hanzo lit them up with a small fire spell.

When the umpteenth flame trembled in the damp air, though, they both stopped frozen.

“Sheogorath’s cock – what’s this?”

“A massacre. If killing already dead people counts as such”, Hanzo growled. McCree passed him and went to the nearest bundle of parched skin and bony limbs, tipping the corpse over to reveal something that was more skeleton than face.

The first in a long series, the draugr blindly stared at the void with empty eyes. His chest, barely covered by a tattered old armor, sported some very suggestive slashes.

“This is our man – or woman”, said Hanzo, kicking a severed head. “Same weapon. I’d say a sword, and a rather heavy one, seen how long and deep the wounds it caused are”.

“Two, three… _six_ of them”, McCree counted, getting up and ruffling his hair in admiration. “Maybe there’s more than one adventurer ahead. And if they cleared our way of draugrs I’ll thank them kindly”.

Hanzo rubbed his beard, frowning.

“I don’t know. The mages in the main hall… they would have seen a group of armed people marching in, while a single one could’ve gone unnoticed…”

“But we’re two, and they didn’t see us”.

“We’re lightly armed, and both trained in stealth. I doubt someone wielding a longsword would favor such a fighting style…”

The idea of a formidable warrior waiting for them was not the best to accompany them into the unknown, but that of a whole band of them was even worse, so he accepted Hanzo’s version and moved on.

Time unfurled in weird ways here, underground, where only silent tombs gaped from cold walls. No sunlight, no windows or openings, just tons of solid rock above their heads. And scattered everywhere, the dead guardians of those who rested in Ustengrav lay in chaotic parodies of human bodies.

Whoever visited the burial site before them had been thorough in their mission of wiping away everything that moved, and McCree felt his fears throb louder with every step. Luckily for him, though, his senses were more focused on their journey: they were entering yet another hall when his gaze ran on the tiled floor.

“Wait!” he said, louder than he’d intended. He grabbed Hanzo’s arm and pulled him back, and when the elf stumbled and shot him a cold, angry look McCree shook his head, serious. “There’s a trap ahead”.

This wiped scorn from Hanzo’s face; he balanced himself on McCree’s shoulder and waited at his side.

“I can’t see no ropes or triggers…”

“It’s the tiles. See those?” McCree pointed at a great number of tiny black holes between the tiles. “There are pressure plates scattered everywhere. And I think…”

He reluctantly let go of Hanzo and searched around his feet until he found a rock as big as his fist. He picked it up and threw it, and when it landed on a tile the click of the mechanism was covered by the roaring of a column of flames that shot up to the ceiling.

Hanzo gasped and shielded his face with his hand, but his surprise didn’t last long, as short-lived was the fire from the trap. He looked up at McCree and cocked his head, a subtle grin at the corner of his mouth.

“I knew taking you with me was not a bad idea”, he said. McCree smiled in earnest and cradled that unexpected gratitude to his heart; Hanzo slid the bow on his shoulder and walked cautiously to the perimeter of the hall, climbing up the crude rocks and avoiding the treacherous floor.

McCree followed him, and the elf’s decision proved the best one: hard and uncomfortable as it was, the way led them to another door, far from the threat of the flaming holes.

Hanzo took a tentative step to the gate and stopped short of grabbing the ring at the bottom of the chain on the wall. He turned and glared at McCree from above his shoulder, as if waiting for his permission.

“Is it going to explode on my face the moment I pull it?”

“Nah”, he said, walking past Hanzo and quickly inspecting the door. “Looks fine to me. Why waste resources and energies placing another trick after a room full of fire-spitting traps? But if I were you, I’d take a step to the side. Y’know, better safe than sorry…”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring”, Hanzo said, but he did as McCree told him. He shuffled aside and supervised the inspection. McCree checked on the hinges and the lock, running his fingers on the darkened wood of the door, and eventually patted the threshold and stood up.

“Clear. Or extremely subtle, but if we don’t give it a try we’ll never know”. He winked and grabbed the chain, giving it a strong pull. As the door moaned and opened, he jumped in front of Hanzo and covered his head with his arm, but after a second of silence he peeked through his fingers and into the next room.

“Shadows take me”, he whispered without hiding a surge of utter marvel.

Two lines of blue flames sprung up from metal braziers, marking the way down a long stone gangway over a still pond of water. At its end, on a platform, what looked very much like a tomb glowed faintly in the ghastly lights.

“What’s in there? I can’t see!”

Hanzo, behind him, pushed him forward as he stood on his toes to check over his shoulder, and McCree, still gaping, stumbled forward. They both entered the room, and for a moment they took in the majestic architecture of the burial.

“I think we found it”. McCree let Hanzo slip past him and down the stairs; the elf was committed, his jaws clenching and a muscle twitching on his cheek.

“Let’s get the horn, then, before our mysterious adventurer discovers us”. He stomped on the stone bridge, and McCree, still staring at the cold flames, froze the moment a perfectly audible _click_ echoed in the hall.

Hanzo, too, realized his mistake and quivered, his foot still pressing one of the anonymous tiles.

“Don’t move”, McCree said, awe quickly giving way to terror. He couldn’t see Hanzo’s face, but his shoulders were stiff, his leg, still bent mid-step, shaking.

McCree jumped down the steps, landing exactly where Hanzo had walked, and extended a hand.

“Alright, darlin’, if you stay still you’ll be fine, just let good ol’ Jesse find the trigger and then we…”

His words were drowned by a roaring sound, and the bridge trembled visibly under their feet. Hanzo crouched, still in position, and turned around. Eyes wide, lips pale, he stared at the sudden boiling in the dark waters and then at McCree.

“What’s this?” he shouted, but McCree couldn’t reply. On each side of the bridge, a pair of pillars was emerging from the water, huge carved heads breaking the cold surface and moving up over them. The movement rumbled through the caves and rooms of Ustengrav, and McCree let go of any rationality and grabbed Hanzo’s arm, pulling him back.

“If it’s a trap, I’ve never seen anything similar before”, he answered. The pillars had beaks and eyes of birds of prey – no, of dragons, scales and fangs shining with moisture in the blue glow. They rose to the ceiling and arched above them, and as suddenly as they had appeared, the sculptures blocked and stood still.

The silence was gone, broken by the endless dripping of water and their harsh breaths, and for long McCree didn’t let go of Hanzo or move. Hanzo, too, seemed reluctant to open his hands, clutched on McCree’s arm.

After a while, though, nothing else seemed to be happening, and McCree looked up.

“Rather impressive, I won’t deny it”, he said and whistled softly. Hanzo took a step forward, slipping from his grip, and circumspectly walked under the statues.

“This Jurgen Windcaller had a thing for theater”, he muttered.

“What did you expect? Yer new friends said he founded an order of monks who go hand in hand with dragons…”

“The Greybeards are more like – teachers? Hermits?”

“And yet they can show you how to shout people off cliffs”. It dawned on him, and words rolled off his tongue before he could control them. “Just like Ulfric did with the High King, right?”

Hanzo, halfway down the path to the tomb, turned sharply to him and sneered.

“I’m nothing like Ulfric”, he snapped, and McCree realized his mistake.

“Shoot, no, I didn’t mean – of course yer not like him, I’d never say that! But… he did it, and you can do that, too, and…” He trotted to catch up with him, the adrenaline rush making his heart flutter. “Sorry, Han, I… never meant to offend you. Bad choice of words, mh?”

Something softened in Hanzo’s eyes, but only for a moment.

“I’ll accept your apologies, but never talk to me about that racist piece of shit ever again. And now, if you please, we have to take the horn”.

The clawed hand on top of the tomb seemed built to host something. A relic, probably. And if the directions of the Greybeards were correct, the horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

It seemed the perfect spot, and it probably was.

Only, the horn was not there.

Hanzo’s face hardened instantly and he ran to the tomb, touching it with eager hands and scratching the decorated lid.

“It’s… it should be here. See? It says _Windcaller_ and everything, that’s his tomb, he’s buried here!”

McCree ran up to the tomb and ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

“Yer pretty fucking damn right…”

“But it’s not here!” Hanzo crouched behind the stone block and emerged with his teeth bared and his hands in the air. “I didn’t make my way through necromancers and thralls and _dead_ undead and traps and everything just to… to... ah!” He stomped his foot on the ground and grabbed the lid with a grunt. He pushed and pushed, arms flexing to an impressive thickness under the leather of his armor and tendons bulging on his neck; McCree appreciated the show. Predictably enough, the massive, heavy slab of stone didn’t move an inch.

McCree pulled at his beard and gave the scene a rather disheartened look. Yes, the sculpted hand seemed carved to hold the horn, but it was empty. Clearly, the mysterious warrior that had killed everything in Ustengrav had their same goal.

But then, as Hanzo kept on grunting and cursing and pushing, McCree saw something with the corner of his eye.

“Han, wait”, he said, fatigue slipping away under a new wave of curiosity. Hanzo ignored him, and McCree didn’t worry about him. He just reached the tomb and, grabbing the stone arm, lifted himself up.

“There’s a note! Hanzo, stop everything and check here!”

“A… note?” Hanzo panted, pushing himself back and huffing a loose lock from his nose. He was flushed and still very brooding, and McCree bit the inside of his cheek not to giggle at him.

“Yeah, here!” He dropped to the floor and held the scrap of parchment by the nearest light. Hanzo joined him and stooped over the new discovery.

In a sharp, elegant writing, a few words blinked at them.

 

_Dragonborn -_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the_ _Sleeping Giant Inn_ _in_ _Riverwood_ _, and I'll meet you._

_\- A friend_

 

“It’s for you”, McCree said, tilting his head to look at Hanzo. “Who this friend of yours could be?”

Hanzo snatched the parchment from his hands and read it again and again, scanning it intently and clenching his fists so hard his knuckles cracked and the note crumpled under his fingers.

“Are they mocking me? I have no friends”, he hissed, and something squeezed painfully in McCree’s chest.

“Well you have me now”, he pointed out rather awkwardly. “But I swear that’s not my handwriting”, he quickly added, feeling like a complete idiot. Hanzo, on the other hand, only snorted in contempt.

“Whoever did this, they’re not my friend. What they could be, though, it’s a formidable fighter”. He flapped the note in front of McCree’s nose. “And we’re going to see what in Oblivion they want with us. I mean, with me”. The correction arrived a second too late, and Hanzo flinched and balled the parchment up in his fist.

McCree spied beyond the tomb. The wall sported the unmistakable – for him, at least – shape of a door, accurately hidden among the rocks.

“Riverwood, then. And after that, Riften – some extra allies wouldn’t hurt, would they?”

He reached the door and it opened with a rattle the moment he approached, revealing a secondary passage – and, interestingly enough at his thief’s eyes, a studded trunk. A flash of professionality sparkled in his mind and, apparently, on his face, too, because when Hanzo joined him his grim expression twisted into a smirk.

“Take all you can carry and then let’s move on. This nonsense is taking too much time already”.

McCree beamed and jumped forward, grateful for this chance to make his peace with Nocturnal. Soon his pockets jingled with gold, and a long silver necklace found its place around his neck and under his armor.

“See? This is good. Things are gonna be better now, and that little horn prank will turn out in some much deserved good luck”. He rummaged through the chest, ignoring some decent but rather cheap steel armor and a heavy mace he had no use for, and took a relieved sigh. Hanzo, picking a torch from the wall, waited for him down a narrow corridor, and McCree stopped his search to take a long look at him.

The elf had been angry and scared, and he’d seen him at his worst already, probably; now he looked another shade of tired, and a deep tenderness settled in McCree’s heart.

He closed the chest and turned his back to the small room, reaching out to grab Hanzo’s shoulder.

“I meant it, y’know? For how untrustworthy my profession may look, you can count on me. As a friend”, he said softly, and Hanzo’s sharp features twisted in the golden light. When their eyes met, though, steel was gone from his gaze, and his mouth arched in a shy smile.

Not a grin, not a smirk – an actual smile, sweet and frail as a butterfly.

“Thank you”, he whispered. “Ready to go?”

“Take the lead, pumpkin. I’ve got your back”.

 

 

They reached Riverwood by sunset on the fourth day. The small town was bathed in the orange light of the dying sun, and the only paved street, touched by the long shadows of the houses, were empty. Every window sparkled with the light of a lamp or a candle, and all in all, it looked like the perfect time for a couple of tired wanderers to search for some solace in the small inn.

The Sleeping Giant was a sturdy building, but its straw roof was thick and intact, the windows clean, and the first flowers of spring adorned the wooden staircase up to the door.

McCree swatted his hood back on his shoulders and looked at the swaying sign, faded after years of wind and rain.

“Is it just me, or this place hasn’t got an attic?” he mumbled. The inn was squatted behind a low stone fence, and there was clearly no room for a second floor.

Hanzo massaged his neck and nodded thoughtfully.

“No, it’s not just you, but we’ll better get in and find out what this all is about”. He walked to the door and opened it, and McCree sniffed roasted meat and wood fire.

The main hall kept the promises of the exterior, a cozy, warm space with long tables and benches, garlic heads and herbs hanging from the ceiling and a roaring fireplace. The Sleeping Giant looked sleepy indeed, empty but for a scruffy man cleaning a tankard at the bar and a blonde woman sweeping the floor.

It was the latter who turned around at the jingling of the doorbell. In a faded blue gown, with her long hair tied in a simple ponytail, she could’ve looked like the average innkeeper, but her face told a different story.

She smiled a second too late when Hanzo and McCree entered, and her blue eyes were cold and attentive enough to make McCree’s fingers tingle with magic.

“Welcome”, she said in a practical tone. When she walked toward them, McCree noticed she had broad shoulders and large hands, a bit too calloused to blame it on a broom alone. At his side, Hanzo, too, was inspecting her with intention.

“Greetings”, he said in a deep, polite tone. In the past days, McCree had come to understand how that vague vibration in his voice was all stifled anger carefully masked with good manners. “We would like to stay for the night”.

“Sure thing, all our rooms are available, so make yourselves at home. I’ll come to you in a moment with…”

“The attic room, if you please”, Hanzo interrupted her.

His words rang under the wooden beams of the ceiling and fell into the silence. At nearthe bar, the other man kept on polishing his cup without paying them much attention, but the woman’s eyes jumped between Hanzo and McCree. Her mask slid off her face in a heartbeat, and her jaws clenched.

“We don’t have an attic room”, she replied in the same, casual tone. “But if you want to follow me, I have the perfect solution for you”.

She left the broom near a bench and gestured them to follow her.

McCree glanced at Hanzo, whose profile looked carved in stone. He walked behind the innkeeper, with McCree at his side, until they entered a side room.

“Pray it’s not a trap”, the elf whispered roughly. The room, with two beds and a large closet, was terribly normal.

“It’s not, you can believe me. Close the door”, she snapped back.

McCree cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

“For not being a trap it smells a fucking lot like one”, he said. With a deep breath, he gathered the energies to summon his left arm and casually tapped his fingers on the door.

The woman snarled and clenched his fists; small as she was, her neck was thick and her posture rather intimidating.

“I said it’s not, and if you want answers you’d better do as you’re told”.

Hanzo’s hand went to his belt, fluttering over the sheath of his dagger. McCree, beyond any form of common sense, was ready to fight whatever battle his partner would decide to pick, but when the tension subsided and Hanzo let his arm fall to his side with a disgruntled snarl, he was happy to keep quiet and closed the door behind him.

“Good. Now come with me”, said the innkeeper. Their mistrusting attitude didn’t seem to impress her, and she turned her back to them to fidget with the closet’s door.

McCree reached Hanzo and exchanged a quick, nervous look with him. The elf’s lips trembled around what looked much like curses and accusations, but he held his tongue.

“This way”. The woman moved to the side, showing a narrow staircase inside the closet.

Hanzo glared at her with all the contempt a mortal face could muster but obeyed, descending in the inn’s cellar – or whatever it was – without a comment.

When the stranger gestured McCree to do the same, he smiled and bowed.

“After you, ma’am”.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I…”

“After you”, he said again, lower and just a bit more dangerous.

“Ah, you’re ridiculous. Still thinking I’m going to push your friend down the stairs?”

But she walked behind Hanzo, and McCree followed close. When she lit up the nearest torch, they all squinted.

The secret room was not what one would expect to find beneath a peaceful tavern. It probably had a past as a wine cellar, but now every wall was covered in weapon racks, all sporting an assortment of blades and bows, shelves covered in potions and books, and armors on mannequins. On the crude table was a large map of Skyrim with an obnoxious knife stuck in the middle.

“I didn’t expect two people”, said the woman, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And I expected to find the horn of Jurgen Windcaller in his tomb, instead of this”. Hanzo fished the crumpled note from his pocket and threw it at the stranger’s feet. This caught her attention.

“Which one of you is the Dovahkiin, then?”

“My lady, I daresay introductions are in order”, McCree said with a wink.

The woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and eventually she looked at them again.

“I apologize for tricking you into Ustengrav. I needed to make sure only the Dragonborn would find my note, because I’m in dire need to speak to him. I’m Delphine”, she said, and she extended her arm to Hanzo, who looked at it and didn’t shake it.

“I don’t like being mocked”, he hissed.

“So it’s you. And who’s this one?”

“Oh, nobody you should concern yerself with”, McCree said nonchalantly. “But I’m with him, so please, carry on”.

“I’m Hanzo Shimada, and I demand to know who you are. And I’m not talking about your name”.

Delphine dropped her arm and her lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“Not a very believable innkeeper, am I right?”

“Not a bit. And…” Hanzo’s hardened face flashed with intense curiosity. “Wait. You took the horn”.

“I did”.

“Alone?”

“Of course I was alone. If you knew who I am, you wouldn’t doubt I acted on my own”, Delphine sneered, throwing her head back. McCree let out a small sound of sheer admiration and took mental note not to upset her more than it was strictly necessary.

“You made your way through hordes of draugrs and made it out in one piece. Whoever you are, Delphine, I’d rather not call you my enemy, but I fear you’ll be if you don’t give me the horn – and some answers”.

The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. She studied the two of them for long before sighing and leaning back against the table.

“Fine, I owe you this much. I’m one of the Blades – once personal guards to the Emperor and dragon hunters. Now that the Altmer are poisoning the Empire, though, we’re little more than renegades. As far as I know, I’m the last of my order, but at least I haven’t forgotten what serving my lands means”.

McCree chuckled and sat down on the lowest step, perching his elbows on his knees.

“So romantic. Still, the trick with the horn pissed us off more than a bit, right, Han?”

A nod, and the dunmer frowned.

“I’m still waiting”.

Delphine jumped on the table and sat with her ankles crossed. She must have been in her fifties, but she had the agility of a teen.

_She’s dangerous._

“It was necessary. I know Jarl Morrison summoned you after the dragon’s attack on Whiterun, and I reckon you witnessed Helgen’s destruction too, but I needed to be sure you would accept to speak to the Greybeards”.

“Interesting – wait, no, I don't care. May I have the horn, now?” Hanzo extended his hand and wiggled his fingers, something that deepened the furrow between Delphine’s eyebrows.  
  
“No, because I’m still not sure you’re the Dragonborn indeed. I need to see it with my own eyes, and if you agree to come with me I…”

“We’re leaving”, Hanzo said, turning around and marching to the stairs. McCree jumped to his feet, ready to lead the way; behind them, Delphine gaped and flushed with outrage.

“How dare you…”

Hanzo sharply turned to face her, red eyes on fire and hair slipping from his bun.

“I’m not some kind of freak! Either you trust my word or you go to Oblivion straight away”.

“Wait!”

McCree bowed in mocked respect and extended his arm to let Hanzo walk past him. Delphine was fuming, and when she closed the gap between them, reaching out to take Hanzo’s arm, he feared a fight was imminent.

“Hanzo, you must listen to me!”

“Oh no you didn’t”, McCree muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. Hanzo froze in place and slowly raised his head to give Delphine his signature killer stare.

“ _Must_? Correct me if I’m wrong, and I really want to be wrong, but it sounded much like an order…”

Delphine spread her arms and shook her head.

“This is not the moment to play games…”

“First you have us enter a cave filled with traps and necromancers, then you fuck with us, you force us to come here… and for what? To tell me you don’t believe who I am? You could’ve spared us the inconvenience!”

“That’s not it! But the situation is so delicate I needed to be sure of what I’m doing, and you’re vital to this… please, if you really are Dragonborn, listen to me. Then, if my words won’t satisfy you, I won’t stop you if you still want to leave”.  
  
Hanzo quickly met McCree’s eyes, and it was like their thought aligned.

They both disliked this person, but her despair seemed to mask a world of truth they couldn’t grasp. And Hanzo needed that knowledge.

McCree winked subtly and lowered his head to hide a smirk.

_You have an ally in this room, try not to forget it._

Hanzo scrunched his nose and went back to focus on Delphine. Her blue eyes, McCree noted through the bangs on his forehead, looked concerned and sincere, but he still couldn’t trust or like her.

“Speak, Blade”, Hanzo said eventually in a dry whisper. Delphine cracked her knuckles and walked to the swords hanging from the wall; her fingers ran on the blades, caressing them in an almost affectionate way.

“Skyrim is at war, and you know it very well. The Thalmor forced the Empire to the White Gold Concordat, and now they have it under their heel. Ulfric killed the High King, dragons raid the skies and I’m the only survivor of those who could’ve fought this all”.

“A sad story. I don’t care about your feelings, unfortunately”.

Delphine ignored his salty words and approached him.

“Of course you don’t care, if having your home burned to the ground is not a big concern of yours. But if you want to fight, and you look like a warrior to me, stop with that attitude”.

Hanzo snorted and clenched his fists. The laughter that he barked out was mirthless and scornful.

“So after all, you want to believe I’m what they told you I am…”

“Jarl Morrison seems to believe it. I don’t trust the Greybeards – their art relies too much on our enemy’s Voice, but I fear they’re not wrong”. She ran her fingers through her hair, letting it fall in a gray and golden cascade over her back. “I asked you for a proof you don’t want to provide, and I have to admit I’m desperate enough to… to trust you. Just to trust you and the signs”.  
  
Hanzo crossed his arms over his broad chest. Upstairs, the planks on the floor creaked and moaned, and Delphine stiffened as she shot a quick look at the staircase.

McCree let a wave of cynical satisfaction pass on his face: if she was uneasy, it was all good for them.

“I’ll talk to you, Dragonborn, and to you alone. Your friend can wait outside, it’s not for him to…”

“No”, Hanzo interrupted her. His ears darkened slightly, but he stood proud and held out a protective arm in front of McCree.

Delphine rolled her eyes and growled.

“This is a…”

“… secret, mh? First, I can be discreet, and my partner, here, twice as much. He’s been with me since Helgen, and hadn’t it been for him I would have killed no dragon. So if you want to speak, you’ll do it in front of us both”.

McCree held his breath. He hadn’t expected such a declaration of loyalty, and the faint blush on Hanzo’s face mirrored on his own.

“Fine, then! You’re not making this easy, you know? But let me tell you this: dragons are not coming back – they’re coming back _to life_. Us Blades killed them centuries ago, and now their burial sites are empty. Do what you want with this information, but since you claim to be Dragonborn, you’ll play a crucial role in this war against them”.

“Undead dragons?” McCree gasped. “And here I thought dragons were bad enough already…”

Hanzo silenced him with a glare.

“But the dragons happened to appear at a turning point in the civil war: Ulfric Stormcloak was in chains, ready to be beheaded and bringing the civil war to an end. I sense the Thalmor might be involved - they have all the interests to have the war going on, hence dragons -, but I need your help to find if I’m correct. Is this enough to stop you from snarling?”

Now there was silence. Hanzo was listening with complete attention, and McCree couldn’t but do the same.

“Maybe. But why should I accept?”

Delphine’s grin was sour. When she spoke again, McCree saw one of her teeth was chipped and there was a scar on her lips. A fighter, after all.

“I still have the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. You want it or no?”

And with this, Hanzo’s anger burst. He pushed McCree away – not that it was necessary – and stomped his feet until he was standing in front of Delphine. He wasn’t much taller than her, but he radiated an aura of absolute contempt.

“Again? Are you blackmailing me?” he shouted. His hand went to the dagger, and McCree jumped forward to grab his wrist and stop him.

“No, no, darlin’, wait – not like this, alright?”

“Listen to your friend, kid. Yes, I’m blackmailing you, and no, there’s nothing you or your companion can do to obtain the horn against my will. I’m much older and much cleverer than you”.

Hanzo bared his teeth and snatched his arm from McCree’s hand.

“You… you damned… how can you…”

“… use every mean in my possession to obey my duty and save my land? To sink to this level to reach my goals? Don’t try me, Hanzo, for you don’t know who you’re talking to!”

“I take no orders from a stranger – or from anyone”, he hissed. Delphine shot his hand forward to grab the neck of his armor, but Hanzo swatted her away. “And don’t challenge me”.

The rapidity of his reflexes elicited a small, interested noise from Delphine’s throat.

“I _do_ challenge you, Dragonborn. To come to war. Or know that all you hold dear will be burned to ashes”.

Hanzo laughed again, bitter.

“Now you’re the one who doesn’t know who I am”, and McCree’s heart clenched in pain once more at that declaration. Delphine didn’t take the bait and pressed on.

“You can choose. Help me, or soon the dragons will come to take you”.

For a long moment, Hanzo held Delphine’s stare – seething with fury, while she was horribly calm. Eventually, Hanzo cursed through his teeth and took a step back.

“And I’ll have the horn”.

“And allies”.

“I have already, thank you very much. You have to trust someone to call them an ally, you know?” He shot a quick look at McCree, who swallowed a smile.

_He trusts me. Nocturnal, I wish I was worth it._

Delphine tilted her head to the side and walked around the table.

“I see. Good luck with that: I could tell you I’m trustworthy, but it wouldn’t change your opinion. Still, you can see for yourself that I’m not playing at war, and you know what I can do in battle”.

She picked some books from the shelf behind her and scattered them on the table. McCree followed her every movement, but soon curiosity won over doubt.

The leather covers were ruined, the golden letters scratched and barely readable.

“Dragons. Studies, researches, proofs… not even the college of Winterhold has these. The archivist of the Blades, Esbern, was a master of dragon lore, and I wish I could talk to him, but he’s been missing for decades, now”. She sighed and traced a letter with her finger. “Look at me, Dragonborn”.

Hanzo, all too interested in the books himself, shot his head up and frowned. Delphine’s eyes were serious, almost wise. McCree didn’t like her enough to give her the benefit of such a definition, though.

“Let’s strike a deal, then”, Hanzo said. “What do you need from me?”

The following smile painted Delphine’s face in a sweeter, dangerous light.

“I know some tips and tricks on dragons, Hanzo, but Esbern is a master. The Thalmor are on his tail, but they haven’t found him yet. Maybe he’s dead, but I know the old man too much to think that Arkay himself would dare to take him without his consent when there’s still so much to be done. Find him, and we’ll have a precious help”.

“Find him? How?”

McCree’s brain was clicking in action already. Esbern, Esbern… the name rang no bell, but maybe Sombra would have some information for them, and since they were going to Riften already…

“By going to a party”. Delphine’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and McCree sharply looked at her.

The light in her eyes meant trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more like the pilot episode of CSI: Ustengrav. Solving crimes is pretty easy for our two detectives: either Hanzo or McCree usually is the culprit. Another case brilliantly solved, they deserve a drink.
> 
> McCree figures things out - like why is luck is so bad, and that Hanzo is a cutie. 
> 
> Hanzo is frequently pissed off for a long series of good reasons.
> 
> Delphine could break every single bone in their bodies and rearrange them in an artistic fashion. 
> 
> Don't forget your fancy outfits for next week!
> 
>  
> 
> (In case anyone's wondering: I stretched Skyrim's dimensions a bit; I've always found ridiculous how small the land is in game,  
>  it's so anticlimactic and geologically inaccurate - humor me, I'm a nerd for this kind of things)
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and in the meantime, it's [McHanzo week](http://aughtpunk.tumblr.com/post/168134863531/because-no-one-else-is-hosting-a-mchanzo-week) on Tumblr! I did a smol thing for this AU, you can find it [here ](http://valpur.tumblr.com/post/169261839742/peapod-mchanzo-week-day-2-au-yup-im-still):3
> 
> Thank y'all for every single click and comment, it means a lot!


	6. Sok

Hanzo Shimada knew a bad idea when he saw one. The fact that this didn’t deter him from diving head first into the most dangerous situations was another story, but now, as he watched the carriage roll away in the snow, he deeply regretted every single decision in the last weeks.

The Thalmor embassy, an elegant villa surrounded by a vast garden, stood threatening in front of him, glimmering at every corner with faceless guards in golden armors. Still as statues, they greeted the guests with polite voices and attentive eyes that sparkled from under their helmets. 

Hanzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His feet were freezing in his fancy new boots, a bit too big for him. He felt clumsy already, and the elaborate clothes he’d been forced into didn’t help.

“What in Oblivion are we doing here?” he muttered under his breath. A strong arm slid under his elbow and dragged him away from his thoughts.

“To have a good time and make interesting acquaintances”, McCree replied in a jolly voice. Damn him, he looked so perfectly at ease in his party outfit, blue where Hanzo’s was a golden brown, with a silver brooch on his shoulder and a cloak lined in fox’s fur on his broad shoulders. His left arm was inconspicuously covered in embroidered blue velvet, and his hand hidden in a leather glove. “Cheer up a bit, darlin’. That pouty look is cute but not one you should bring to a party…”

He grinned, and despite the flash of white teeth and the dimples on his cheeks, his eyes were sharp, sliding from Hanzo’s face and exploring the location. From the pit of his gloom resignation to an awful fate, Hanzo noticed that this version of the thief, with his hair combed back and tied with a ribbon in a small ponytail and his beard neatly trimmed, was rather charming. And if a part of him was happy to take in all those untimely, fascinating details, his pride protested that he, too, probably looked regal to say the least. 

Only, he really wasn’t in the mood for a party or anything. He resisted the temptation to wrestle himself free from McCree’s arm and his polite but determined guidance to the main doors and slowed their pace until they were at a reasonable distance from the guests in front of them.

“This looks so much like a trap…”

“Finding those is my job, sugar. Smile, everyone’s lookin’ at us”, and it was true, because a good chunk of the elegant strangers queuing in front of them shot the two of them looks full of admiration and curiosity. Hanzo managed a sneer, but McCree was way more convincing, because a plump lady passing the security controls of a guard giggled and blushed.

“Can we trust him? Delphine’s man”.

“Elf. But y’heard her, right? Malborn’s all the reasons in the world to hate the Thalmor, and hatred and resentment can be reliable allies”. They walked up the steps to the door and McCree opened his cloak to take a folded parchment with a broken seal.

At the sight, Hanzo felt his mouth go dry and his palms sweat. He unconsciously clung to McCree’s arm and tried to school his breath to something less suspicious than a frenzied panting.

“Why did you save me back in Helgen?” he hissed. Ten more feet and they were going to face the guard at the entrance, and maybe their invitation wouldn’t pass the scrutiny, maybe they were going to be unmasked and had to fight their way out with scraps of magic and no weapons…

“For yer lovely eyes. And also ‘cause the Guild wants to talk to you”, he answered with unfaltering ease.

“No, like – why didn’t you leave to die? It would’ve been so much easier and less painful…”

“Don’t be grim”. McCree squeezed his hand and marched on, and now any plan of escaping and avoiding this madness vanished from the realm of possibilities.

“Your invitation, please”, said the guard in a flat voice. The altmer was a good head taller than Hanzo, even taller than McCree, and his voice echoed from under the metal of his armor.

“Of course. Here”, McCree said, passing the parchment to the soldier. Somehow, Hanzo noticed, his posture had changed significantly in the last seconds: upright but relaxed, with nothing of his casual grace but meticulously controlled. 

_ They’re going to find it’s all a farce.  _

The guard opened the letter and read it. 

And read it again.

_ See? It’s fake. It’s clearly fake, it’s impossible to ignore. _

His cheeks hurt from the effort to smile manically, but he held the guard’s stare. His knuckles cracked as he clasped his hand in the crook of McCree’s elbow, but the thief didn’t wince or gave his discomfort away.

_ And this is where the guard yells at his companions to seize us and… _

“Very well. Welcome, my lords”.

Hanzo’s lower lid twitched, the only sign of his complete amazement. Out of sheer stubbornness he managed not to let his mouth hang open or his eyes go wide.

“Thank you, soldier. Our security is in your hands, and I’m positive you’ll make this the safest place in Skyrim”. McCree half dragged Hanzo along, smiling at the guard with ridiculous politeness. “We’ll make sure Elenwen is informed of your good job”.

The tall elf blinked and his eyes crinkled in appreciation as he bowed stiffly.

“My duty is my main concern. Enjoy your evening”, and he gestured them to the door.

Once in the villa, Hanzo stared up at McCree.

“And where did that come from?” he whispered, shaking his head. McCree dropped his mask for a moment and huffed, his shoulders flopping slightly.

“What?”

“Your… accent. It was different, and the way you walked, you talked…”

“I’m a professional at my job”, he said. The smirk was gone from his lips, and he looked serious and concerned. Hanzo found it both unnerving and reassuring – at least he wasn’t the only one who thought they were going to die horribly before the dessert.

The corridor was suffocating – too many fluffy carpets and trinkets on the walls and on the elaborated furniture, flowers and framed pictures of people all in the same black and golden robes. The scent, too, a mixture of expensive perfumes, roasted meat, and spices, was excessive: it was overwhelming, distracting in a place where Hanzo needed all his senses at their best. 

The group of party-goers in front of them stopped and crowded the corridor, leaving Hanzo a moment to catch his breath and focus.

Eyes closed, ears rising to capture any possible useful information (but he found nothing, except for a constant chattering, some music and a deep female voice laughing somehwere near), he let his heart ring in his head and throat.

_ Fear is a friend. Fear keeps you alive, and the bravest man is the one who acts despite it. I acknowledge it, accept it and will carry on as far as possible because I’m more than my primal instincts. _

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim”.

The words, spoken in those same rich tones he’d heard already, snatched him from his thoughts. Hanzo opened his eyes and found himself face to face – maybe a little lower – with a slender altmer woman. Blond hair slicked back on her head and caressing her shoulders over the brocade of an opulent black gown, an angular face heavily painted with makeup and eyes that a thick line of kajal made bigger and harder, the Ambassador stared down at him with a sharp smile on her lips. “And you are…”

“I… er… I…”

Caught off guard, Hanzo couldn’t recollect himself. Going into the wolf’s lair was a thing, but being greeted by the alpha was not what he’d expected. He gaped and blinked in Elenwen’s face, but McCree came to his aid.

“… absolutely  _ thrilled _ to meet you, lady Ambassador! It’s such an honor, we didn’t expect such a delightful courtesy at this party!” McCree didn’t let go of Hanzo, but reached out and took Elenwen’s hand in his own, bowing over it with perfect manners. “The place is gorgeous, but its mistress leaves us speechless, isn’t it, my dear?” and he turned to Hanzo with a grin that could’ve passed for charming, hadn’t it been for his subtle wink.

“Y-Yes, I’m sorry if my manners failed me, but I was stunned by your presence”, he managed to stutter out. He sounded ridiculous, but maybe it would work with McCree’s presentation. 

“Ah, such refined young gentlemen – and I don’t even know your names!” She waved her hand in a frilly gesture, but the glimmer in her eyes told Hanzo that she was appreciating the attention. 

“First thing first, let us offer you our most sincere gratitude for your invitation. We’re new to this world, and receiving word from the fabled Elenwen herself struck us like a sign of more good things to come!” McCree’s smile could’ve melted the ice, and Hanzo, struggling with his paralyzing anxiety, still blinked at such a radiance. “My partner, here, and I have heard the most amazing tales of your little soirées, and taking part in one in person is an honor that won’t go unreciprocated”.

“Your… partner?” she said, her eyebrows arching on her forehead. Hanzo gathered his wits and smiled, pressing himself at McCree’s side. The arm that circled his waist in response, slightly shaky as it was, gave him a bit of stability.

“Oh, we love luxury. You wouldn’t believe my husband’s reaction to shiny things! He has an eye for everything that’s beautiful…”

McCree’s hand squeezed his waist.

“And that’s why I married you, and such a pretty ceremony it was! You should’ve seen it, lady Ambassador, the flowers and the delicious wine…”

“I can imagine it, and you two seem to have excellent taste! But I fear I missed your names”.

“Oh, is that a white sabercat trophy?” McCree pointed at the mounted, snarling head on the wall. Which was undeniably a sabercat. “My father used to hunt those in the hills around Windhelm, but of course, that was way before war came to this land. I’m surprised you managed such a gathering in the current situation – you spared no expenses”.

“Of course. One does not invite the best of Skyrim society only to offer them cheap beer and stale bread. And this is but a taste of the favors those who align to the Thalmor cause will receive, lord…?”

_ This is it. We can’t keep it going much longer. _ The corner of Hanzo’s mouth trembled between a smile and a grimace.

“Lady Elenwen?”

A dry voice emerged from the crowd, and Elenwen’s face hardened instantly. Every pretense of cheerfulness vanished, making her features cruel, almost ugly.

“Yes, Malborn?” Her voice, so sweet until a moment before, crackled with disgust and nuisance. She barely turned around to glare at the dark-skinned elf behind the counter.

Hanzo stifled a relieved sigh. Malborn, when they’d met him at the Winking Skeever in Solitude, had seemed a nervous little guy, with plenty of hatred toward the Thalmor and zero will to discuss it with two strangers. Terrified beyond good manners, he’d offered to smuggle some of their equipment in the Embassy, and Hanzo still doubted he would see his old armor or the Jarl’s bow ever again.

But right now, Malborn's deferent blabbering of Colovian brandy, while extremely unnerving for Elenwen, was a lifesaver for them. He managed to distract the Ambassador enough to elicit a hasty “We’ll talk again later” from her before she moved to the counter, seething with fury as she scolded him for disturbing her with such trivial matters.

Enough for Hanzo to pull McCree’s arm and walk into the crowd.

Soon they found themselves surrounded by dozens of strangers, and Hanzo leaned against a wall, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“I can’t believe we've made it this far”, he grunted, and McCree turned for a second to pick two glasses from a passing waitress in plain but refined robes.

“Not exactly ‘cause of yer speech skills”, he said with a smirk, offering a glass to Hanzo, who accepted it gratefully. “ _ Husband _ ?”

Hanzo stopped short of drinking; first, his long trained assassin instinct kicked in, making him sniff his drink in search of a familiar weird note – but no, it was only Alto wine, and of exceptional quality too. And sure Elenwen didn’t mean to poison her guests. Second, because McCree’s half-mocking remark made his ears unpleasantly warm.

“I was making up a believable story”, he said before taking a deep sip. “And you kept up with me”.

“There are worse people to be married to, sugar”, McCree winked and raised his glass in a silent toast. “At least yer cute”.

Hanzo almost choked on his wine, and for a horrible second he feared he was going to sputter it all over his fine clothes. He forced his drink down the right path and stared at McCree with fiery eyes.

“Don’t flirt, McCree! We’re on a secret – and suicidal, had anyone asked for my opinion – mission!”

“Suicide really isn’t my thing, little dove. There are too many opportunities to live for, and… ah!” His face lit up suddenly, and every last trace of doubt and concern disappeared from his expression. For a heartbeat he looked cold and dangerous, a calculating and intelligent stranger that scanned the guests with inquisitive eyes. “Talkin’ of opportunities… see that one?” He leaned against the wall at Hanzo’s side, invading his personal space and whispering to his ear.

The warmth caressing his skin had a weird effect on Hanzo, whose plans were simply to be nervous, angry and ready to act. Somehow, McCree’s cheeky attitude stirred something inside him and made him both uneasy and craving for that proximity.

He quickly shook those inappropriate thoughts away and followed McCree’s stare.

“Who?”

“The woman in a green dress. Dark hair, a bitch face”, he casually pointed at his target with his gloved hand. “Maven Black-Briar. A friend”.

Hanzo squinted and analyzed the lady. Rich to say the least, if the collection of gems sparking at her fingers and throat were to be taken as an indication, and snobbish enough to look at everyone as if they were bugs in her morning pudding.

“A friend. And this helps us because…”

“Worry not yer pretty head. She… well, let’s just say she hasn’t exactly earned all those jewels, and my associates and I played a relevant role in her obtaining them”. He bit his lower lip and grinned like a cat who got the cream. “May come in handy, later”.

Hanzo took a deep breath and finished his wine. It was fresh, thank the Divines, but it did little to ease his discomfort. If being a bundle of nerves weren’t enough, all the fur and rich fabric he was wrapped into were too hot already, and sweat was crawling down his spine.

As he took an attentive look around, his gaze rested on the counter.

Elenwen was gone, but spotting her was easy – she was busy chatting with one of her Thalmor friends, another lanky elf in black robes – and Malborn was on his own, his slanted eyes frantically speaking to Hanzo.

_ He’s calling me. Are we to start this already?  _

A chill ran under his skin despite the warmth, and the soft music coming from a harpist in a corner cradled his mind. Malborn made a quick gesture to the door behind him, and Hanzo placed his empty glass on an empty bench at his side.

“While you consider your business plan, I’ll go talk to Mal – to the barman. Wait here”, he said, and McCree nodded.

“I’ll be watchin’ over you, honey. And maybe have some more of that wine”.

“Good. A drunk thief is exactly the kind of person I’d like to have by my side in such a situation”, he grumbled as he shuffled away. 

Squeezing himself among the guests, all of which seemed to be too interested in offering him yet another drink, or knowing his name, or in his opinion on the civil war, proved quite the task. By the time he reached the counter, his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat and his hair was starting to slip from his braid. 

Malborn looked at him with angry despair, but smiled. His curly hair was a ruffled cloud on his head, and despite his pointy chin and thin mouth he looked like a child caught in a game too big and dangerous for him.

Which, Hanzo realized, was probably true.

After a long wordless exchange, Hanzo wore his most annoying face and sniffled.

“Is there anything a bit more refined than sour wine, or shall I settle for what the house is offering?”

“Of course, my lord, I’ll soon have something special brought up from the cellar”. And then his voice dropped to a hiss. “Two is a crowd for this mission. Can you go in alone?”

“Yes, but…” He glanced at McCree, now having a lively conversation with Maven and her friend; the former didn’t seem very happy, but she nodded at his every word. “I can’t leave him here, so find a way to let us pass”.

“Fine. As if things weren’t bad enough already…” Malborn twisted his immaculate apron in his hands and gulped. “But I’m going to die anyway, so let’s make the most out of it. Look, the way is behind me – no, don’t stare at the door, please, it would be suspicious. I can open it for you, but I need a diversion!”

An unexpected relief settled in Hanzo’s stomach. Maybe it was the wine, but he doubted it was just that. He turned to the room and met McCree’s eyes, and some of the tension eased for a second.

“I think it can be arranged. Just give me a moment…”

“We can’t wait much longer! And… ah, yes, sweetrolls are on the menu, too. The best you’ve ever tasted, my lord, I can assure you!”

His feeble voice gained volume and his long face morphed into a submissive look. Hanzo, taken aback, hesitated, but when a Redguard in silver and blue robes approached the counter and asked for some brandy he read through Malborn’s eccentricity.

“I hope they’ll be worth the wait”, he cut it short before walking back to McCree.

Again, he had to push his way among the crowd, growing drunker with every passing moment, and when he joined McCree anxiety was peaking again. Finding the guts to smile wasn’t easy, but the two ladies McCree was entertaining seemed pleased enough with his attempt.

“My dear, I’ve been alone for too long and I missed you”, he cooed, throwing up inwardly for such a cheesy tone. That was so not him – and McCree probably felt the same, because he pressed his lips together and snorted a silent laughter from his nose.

“Ah – er, yes, conjugal duties. Not that I mind taking care of them, mh?” He grabbed Hanzo’s waist and pulled him close, burying his face in his neck. “Yer the worst actor ever, but I’m having the time of my life”, he whispered against his skin, and Hanzo gasped quietly.

_ It’s too hot in here. Definitely too hot. _

Maven and the other woman excused themselves with rather embarrassed words and walked away, and Hanzo dragged McCree away to a relatively empty corner.

“Diversion. Now”, he blurted out.

“And here I thought we were goin’ to discuss conjugal duties…”

“Stop flirting, I said! We…”

“No, if we’re to play the married couple let’s make it believable, mh?” And he playfully tickled Hanzo under his chin. His eyes, though, were extremely serious. “What’s the matter?”

Shocked, Hanzo couldn’t reply at once. Why was McCree having such an effect on him? Was it the adrenaline of the danger surrounding them?

He decided to go for the adrenaline explanation and be content with that.

“We need a diversion to sneak past Malborn’s door. And since you seem to be such a party animal, I need your help”.

McCree chuckled and leaned closer, brushing a wandering strand from Hanzo’s forehead.

“Consider it done. Just give me a minute, and wait for me by the door. But now go, or people will wonder why we aren’t makin’ out in this dark corner…”

Trying his best not to consider the last concept, Hanzo nodded and strutted away, going back to Malborn’s position. From here, he could see McCree whisper in Maven Black Briar’s ear, and he could only imagine what kind of deal he was suggesting her.

Fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, Hanzo waited. Malborn was constantly sent to fetch stuff, and this was not a good start to their plan. 

_ Come on, McCree, work your magic _ , he thought with all his strength. His accomplice – how else could he call him at this point? – was barely visible now that a small crowd was gathering around him.

No, around the Black-Briar woman, whose voice suddenly rang above the music. The sparse guests still waiting at the counter immediately turned to her and reached the center of the room, and Hanzo stiffened.

It was working. Even Elenwen, her lethal smile splitting her face, let go of supervising the party and joined Maven with a twitch of her ears. 

It was but a matter of seconds before McCree pushed himself through the guests and walked to Hanzo, brushing the fur on his tunic. He looked more than satisfied – he was smug.

“Done. They’ll be busy for a while”, he muttered with a grin. Hanzo arched his eyebrows and tried to catch some glimpse of the conversation.

“How did you…”

“Come, quickly!”

Malborn sprung up from the counter and startled them. Hanzo stared at him – drawn and shaking all over – and then at McCree, who only shrugged in return.

“Let’s not waste any time, then…”

And before he could gather his thoughts, Hanzo found himself tiptoeing beyond the door, with McCree behind him. Malborn closed the group, but before he could lock the door someone called him from the hall.

“Damn!” he hissed, shooting a panicked look all around. His big eyes focused on Hanzo and he leaped forward, grabbing his arm. “Alright, go on. There’s a small room after the kitchen, wait for me there. No one should bother you, just… just  _ wait _ ”.

McCree opened his mouth but couldn’t speak: Malborn darted through the door and shut it behind his back, leaving them in the darkness.

With his heart drumming in his throat, Hanzo rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“So what now?”

“Got no better idea than following the lil’ guy directions”, McCree said, and once more he sounded more nervous than he looked. “We go on”.

And so they did. The short corridor ended with another door, and the air shifted from the elegant scents of the party to the more reassuring ones of herbs and food. Hanzo slowly pushed the handle, squinting when a violent gold light invested them.

Malborn had been right, the kitchen, with its roaring fires and endless pots, pans and cutlery hanging from the walls, was empty and silent. The smell of roasting meat was heavy, mouth-watering but for the fact that Hanzo’s stomach was clenched with anxiety. 

“We… have to wait here”, he said, looking for a way out or a hiding spot.

“At least there’s no Thalmors here, and the cheese looks delicious”. A big wedge on a plate caught his eye, and he absent-mindedly picked a shard and threw it in his mouth.

“How can you be hungry? We’re on a mission, and it’s a miracle we’re not dead yet!”

“What can I say? Tension makes my belly rumble, and I’m weak for cheese”. He chewed and gulped, moaning with satisfaction. “You want my energies to the fullest, right?”

Hanzo let out a disgruntled noise and rolled his eyes, but the rest of his protests died when a rough female voice floated from the darkness.

“And what is this, mh? Strange smells in my kitchen. I’ll have Malborn flogged if he forgot to lock the door, mistress Elenwen will agree…”

McCree swallowed and stared at Hanzo, who mirrored his gaze with the same shocked expression.

They were cornered, and there was no way out. 

His heart beat faster, so much that Hanzo would’ve sworn its thumping was visible on his neck and temples.

“ _ What do we do?” _ he mouthed with no sound, and McCree checked behind his shoulder. The flickering light of a lamp danced from the shadows, nearer and nearer.

“I’ve got this. Just – don’t kill me now, please… and roll with it”, he replied in a hurried whisper, and Hanzo barely had the time to panick before he found himself hauled up in a frenzied embrace. McCree bent over him and crushed their mouths together, pushing him back against the table.

A shocked yelp escaped his lips and his eyes widened in outrage – but not really. His wits kicked in, and he quickly realized McCree’s plan.

The cheesy couple was a good covering, but they needed to keep it up, so he threw his arms around McCree’s neck and dragged him closer, sitting on the table and making room for his bulk. A fruit basket tipped over, spilling apples all around, and the cheese plate crashed on the ground.

Roll with it, McCree had said, and Hanzo resolved to make their play a believable one. He sunk his fingers into McCree’s hair and gasped when his fingers clutched on his back, sliding down slowly.

His heartbeat was not less furious, but when he finally took in the warm brush of McCree’s lips against his own, or the way their bodies fit together, a different rhythm added up to the tension. And he didn’t want to, really, it was the least sensible thing one could’ve done in such a situation, but something burst to life in his chest and he lost enough of his composure to open his mouth. Just a bit, a casual flick of his tongue that had McCree open his eyes and…

_ Wait. We’re kissing. He’s kissing me for real? _

A strangled moan trembled between them, and Hanzo cursed his traitor body for the enthusiastic reaction to such an untimely diversion. 

_ No, come on, I can’t have a boner in the middle of a raid. _

But McCree scooped him closer and tilted his head to better fit against Hanzo’s mouth, and yes, that slippery, hot thing caressing his lips was definitely his tongue.

“What… are you two doing here?”

They split with a wet sound, and Hanzo didn’t have to fake the fierce embarrassment that painted his face red. 

“We – er… we were…”

McCree stared at him for a second, panting and with his pupils blown, before turning around with a very realistic – and probably sincere – shameful look on his face.

At the bottom of the kitchen, a khajiit woman was squinting at them with yellow eyes. Her simple robes hung from her thin frame, and her whiskers quivered.

“My lords? You… maybe you should find a room, if…”

“That’s exactly what I was doing, Tsavani”, Malborn snapped from the door. Hanzo gingerly slid from the table and adjusted his tunic, pulling the belt down in a last attempt at preserving his dignity. McCree’s face was changing to a bright shade of purple, and they seemed unable to look at each other. “I’m escorting them upstairs before they cause the Ambassador some… trouble”. The young elf’s eyes went to Hanzo, who regretted once more not having left his head on the headsman’s block back in Helgen.

“But guests in the kitchens… this is against the rules”, Tsavani insisted. Her gray fur puffed on the back of her neck, and white fangs peeked from her pursed lips.

Malborn’s face darkened and he hastily turned to her.

“Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn't realize that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador..."

McCree coughed in his fist and ruffled his hair, and the khajiit hissed loudly.

“Get out of here, then. I saw nothing”, and she walked out of the kitchen with her head low. Malborn let out a shuddering breath and gestured Hanzo and McCree to follow him; he was still shaking faintly when he opened a lateral door.

“At least you have quick reactions, Tsavani won’t doubt you were just… you know, making out in the middle of her kitchen”.

“Ah. Er – yeah, we… it was a good plan”, Hanzo said, twisting his braid in his hand. McCree coughed again, but conveniently followed them to a second corridor.

“Here it is. Your equipment is in this trunk”, and he kicked the last anonymous box at the bottom of a pile by the wall. “I… I’ve got to leave you now, and I sure wouldn’t be very useful in there…”

His voice peaked almost to a whimper, and he clutched the front of his apron.

“F-From here you’ll access the garden, Elenwen’s solarium is on the left. Her… her room is there, and if what you’re seeking is in this villa you’ll find it there”. He ran a trembling hand over his face, and when he stared back at them his eyes, shining with tears, burned. “I don’t think I’ll survive the night, because Elenwen will find out I’m a traitor, but make sure you take as many of them as you can”.

Hanzo, his face still very hot, gasped at such an intensity, and the question made its way out of his throat.

“Is it vengeance?”

“Yes”, Malborn snarled, clenching his fists. “The Thalmor killed my family and made me their slave”.

Too close to home. Hanzo took a deep breath and grabbed the boy’s scrawny shoulder.

“Then you have my word, Malborn. It’s the only gift I can give you to show you my gratitude, but every Thalmor that will stand in our way will die”.

“I… well, thank you, for what it may matter”. Malborn didn’t seem very impressed by Hanzo’s words, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a cynical smile. “Now go, I can’t stay much longer. I’ll… lock the door behind you, and from now on the only way out is through Elenwen’s quarters”.

“Gotcha, kid”, McCree said, but eventually none of them found anything else to say. 

Malborn gritted his teeth and nodded, and in a second he turned around. The click of the lock echoed in the small room, and when his light steps faded into the distance Hanzo and McCree were alone.

For long, they stood still, listening to the distant voices from the party and the soft noises of the house all around them. Nobody was near enough to be a threat for now, and the only other person who knew they were here was a skooma-addicted khajiit who wouldn’t betray her word.

Hanzo shivered and sunk to his knees, sliding the heavy box from under the pile.

“Here, I can’t wait to get out of these frills and back in my armor”, he said, and his voice sounded weak and pathetic. He tried his best to stay focused on the pieces of armor shining in the candlelight, and even more to ignore how McCree was rapidly squirmed out of his fancy outfit.

Because no way he was going to look at the pale scars on his back, or the vast expanse of his hairy chest – Sithis forbid his fingers flinched on the bow he was fishing from the trunk as McCree quickly undid his pants…

“C’mon, darlin’, we gotta hurry”, said McCree in a perfectly normal tone, for someone who was infiltrating a Thalmor embassy. 

“Yes, of course. I was just checking everything was here”, and he passed McCree a pair of black boots without looking at him.

Sliding into his old armor helped him regain some of his self-control, and by the time he fastened the last buckle on his shoulder Hanzo felt like himself again. Cold determination and stubbornness filled him to the brim, and his fingers prickled with the need to shoot an arrow; but when McCree took his arm he couldn’t but turn and look at him.

“Yer not gonna kill me after all, then?”

A new wave of fire ran under Hanzo’s skin. His cheeks puffed in a barely contained snarl and narrowed his eyes.

“No, not yet…”

“Figured that out”. McCree pulled his mask over his face and winked. “Yer a hell of a good kisser, by the way…”

Hanzo closed the lid with a slam and growled in McCree’s face.

“How is this the right moment for such… trifles?”

“Just pointing out the truth, darlin’. Gotta seize anything good life offers me, am I right?”

“Anyway”, Hanzo cut him short, wrestling himself from his grip and walking to the door, “we have people to kill. And documents to retrieve, actually. Let’s go, before someone discovers us…”

But as he reached out for the knob, he was painfully conscious of a bright stare following him from the shadows of a hood.

A deep breath –  _ I won’t let this madness distract me, not now that there’s so much at stake  _ – and he pushed the door, opening it without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, the most awkward first kiss ever. If asked, Hanzo would say it didn't even count as a proper kiss, because of course he doesn't have a massive crush on McCree. That would be preposterous.  
> But Hanzo is a very bad liar, so...
> 
> Here, have your weekly dose of enthusiastic author marveling at how lovely y'all are for all the support and validation. U cool.
> 
> Oh and in case you missed it, I'm on [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/valpur)too. See ya!


	7. Zos

The moment Hanzo walked the threshold, every intrusive thought of thick muscles and soft beard vanished under a new surge of tension.

He felt McCree’s presence at his back, and in front of them a disgustingly opulent hall opened up in a triumph of polished wood and golden trimmings.

The door behind them closed in perfect silence, and Hanzo held on to the knob to stifle its clicking. A soft chattering came from one of the rooms opening on the corridor, and McCree tapped Hanzo’s shoulder.

_ There. _

And he was right, of course: guards patrolling the way to Elenwen’s place. Their first targets.

All the anxiety from the party melted in Hanzo’s mind. He was in his element, and he knew what to do. He turned to McCree and gestured him to wait, then pointed at the room – praying the man would understand his strategy. The eyes glimmering from the depths of the hood blinked once, and McCree crouched by the door, half hidden behind a huge vase. The crossbow flicked in his hands, and he wrapped his cloak around the trigger to muffle any sound it could’ve made.

Hanzo slithered down the soft carpet and stopped by the room. A quick peek inside showed him two soldiers in gilded armors leaning to a table and chatting; their weapons were sheathed, their tone relaxed. They were not expecting an attack yet, but any sound could’ve alerted their comrades. 

A deep breath, and he leaped in front of the door. He felt McCree’s eyes upon him, but he didn’t mind him staring: all that mattered was that the guards didn’t notice him, and now he could venture further down the corridor. 

One thing at a time. No, better: one _death_ at a time. He stopped by the tall window on the opposite wall, suppressing a shiver from the chilled draft seeping through the panels, and enjoyed the steady, calm rhythm of his heart. Hiding here would’ve been easy, with the massive dresser leaving but a tiny space in a corner. Enough for someone not too tall to squeeze his way in. He readied an arrow and stepped back into the shadows, checking one last time to make sure McCree was equally hidden. And he was, to his surprise, because even if the vase was not big enough to cover his bulk, the area around him looked somewhat darker, and the man was but a thicker patch in the shadows.

He shivered, sensing the intervention of a form of magic he didn’t recognize, but soon regained his composure. All he needed was a bait.

He coughed once, loud enough to be heard in the nearby room, and McCree winced in the distance.

_ Don’t worry, thief, it’s my turn to say that I’ve got this. _

The voices quieted down, and after a moment, clanking footsteps approached.

_ Like this. Come here, easy… _

The Thalmor soldier emerged in the corridor, and the hissing of metal on leather accompanied the unsheathing of his sword. Just like the guards at the entrance, his armor covered almost every inch of his tall body, but this one was wearing no helmet. The yellowish skin looked almost golden in the flaming reflections of his pauldrons, and the long nose and square jaw seemed carved in stone. Still, the elf looked relatively relaxed, almost annoyed at this turn of events. Hanzo presumed he was just pissed because he had to leave his conversation, but, as the feathers of his arrow caressed his fingertips, he was ready to give the guard more reasons to be disappointed.

He was getting closer. The Thalmor calmly moved to Hanzo’s position, and in a couple of steps he reached the right spot. Near enough to grant a perfect shot, but not so much to see the archer, and at the same time at the right distance to provide a proper reaction time from the other guard.

Hanzo closed his eyes briefly and focused. Soft skin under the smooth chin, the hidden throbbing of blood over the edges of the chest plate. When his skills roared for death, he looked at his target and released his arrow.

The soldier didn’t see it coming. One moment he was begrudgingly checking the corner, and the next a black shaft protruded from his neck. 

Not a quick death, but it was not what Hanzo was looking for. As the Thalmor lost his grip on his sword, gurgling blood and gasping for air, he took another arrow and left his hiding spot.

The clatter of the sword hitting the floor caught the second soldier’s attention.

“Corenar?” called a deep voice from the room. “What was that?”

Concern blossomed in the Thalmor’s tone, and when he appeared from the door Hanzo noticed he was conveniently wearing his helmet. A difficult shot – his favorite brand.

Now that his first victim was done staggering around and eventually fell to his knees, trying in vain to contain the crimson spurt soaking the carpet, the remaining guard turned sharply and his black eyes went wide.

Hanzo could almost see it – the deep intake of breath, the cry for help and the warning swelling in the armored chest. He let go of the bowstring, and the arrow found its mark right through the opening of the helmet.

Straight in the Thalmor’s eye. This time, the elf didn’t even try to fight the unavoidable demise. There was no fumbling for the arrow or fight for air, just a solid, sharp inch of steel digging its way through the soft brain tissue. He died before he could hit the ground.

He didn’t stop to witness his success or to give the dead a silent prayer. He didn’t care – never cared but  _ once _ , and right now his own survival was more important than some faceless foe.

He let go of a breath stuck in his throat and lowered his arm. McCree jumped out of the shadows and joined him in long, silent steps.

“Any more of ‘em?” he whispered, and Hanzo stooped to snatch the arrow from the first Thalmor’s neck.

“No. Not here”. He gave a sharp twist, and some more blood trickled down the wound. To extract his second arrow he had to force it out of the Thalmor’s pierced skull, putting his foot on the corpse’s chest and pulling with a nasty wet and crunchy sound.

McCree cocked an eyebrow.

“That was gross”.

“Sorry to hurt your sensitivity, but I need to be well stocked up”. He shook the arrow and put it back in his quiver before walking around the bodies and into the side room. As expected, it was now empty, and a quick check revealed a door beyond the easternmost corner.

McCree put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and gently pushed him to the side; without a word, he thoroughly inspected the doorframe before turning around with a quick nod.

He let Hanzo take the lead, and they left the warm comfort of the room for the freezing white expanse of a garden. Squatting behind a short wall covered in wilted potted flowers, he patted the paved ground at his side and McCree joined him after inspecting the yard.

“Two. One guard, one mage, I think?” he whispered in Hanzo’s ear. “Tall guy, black robes”.

Hanzo nodded and tapped his fingers on the bow. He stuck his head from the corner and quickly peeked into the garden. McCree was right: a soldier was making his way toward them, calf-deep into the stomped snow, and another Talmor was standing in front of the only other door, arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s the place”, he said under his breath, going back behind the wall. He fumbled for an arrow, but McCree grabbed his wrists.

“Not like this. I take the mage, but you gotta take the other one first. He’s almost here!”

And damn him, he was right. The crunching of snow came closer and closer, and Hanzo, despite the cold, felt sweat drench his undershirt. 

He could hear the jingling of metal, the puffing of the soldier in the cold. 

Some other time he could’ve objected to McCree’s plan, mostly out of stubbornness and desire to prove his worth, but not right now.

He glanced at McCree, slowly dropping his bow in favor of the dagger strapped to his leg, and nodded. 

_ I must trust you. Try not to disappoint me. _

The orange and purple of a bright sunset stretched the shadows into long blades, and when the black silhouette of the guard appeared at his side, Hanzo gritted his teeth.

Eventually, the Thalmor appeared at his side, still unaware of his presence. Not for long, though.

Hanzo jumped to his feet, and a remote part of his mind registered the rustling of fabric coming from McCree. He couldn’t allow himself to wait: as the guard winced, reaching for his sword, Hanzo grabbed his face and quickly ran the edge of his blade on the slit of flesh peeking between his armor and helmet.

A crimson fountain sprayed from the hideous wound, and Hanzo took a step back when the Thalmor crumpled to the ground, convulsing in a cacophony of metal. The blood, dark and rich under the last sun, steamed in the snow and its smell filled his nose.

When he looked up, ready for another strike, he saw the Thalmor mage still standing, motionless and with his arms hanging down his sides. He bit off a curse, but when McCree patted his shoulder and chuckled he opted for a second, more attentive look.

Yes, the mage was still on his feet, but only thanks to the two darts pinning him to the door – one right between his eyes, the other under his sternum.

“Nice one”, he said, surprising himself. McCree squeezed his arm, lingering a moment too much in a rough caress, and shook his mask off.

“Was ‘bout to say the same, darlin’. Not a single drop on yer hands”.

Hanzo grinned and gave him a sidelong look.

“One doesn’t train for half of his life as an assassin only to finish a job looking like a butcher”.

“Still, quite impressive. And I think we should move on before someone finds us. Not an impossible task, since all they need to do is following the trail of corpses, but…” He cocked his head to the (now quite macabre) door, and Hanzo retrieved his bow and followed him.

McCree plucked the darts from the very dead Thalmor, and it required him some grunting and pulling to set the top one free. 

_ We’re almost there _ , Hanzo said to himself, putting his dagger back in the sheath and preparing his bow once more.  _ Or at least I hope so. This place is bigger than I imagined. _

Another wing of Elenwen’s palace, another pompous display of power and wealth. But this time Hanzo didn’t let the low archways and the profusion of flowers – even here, in the middle of nowhere and in the dead of winter – in silver vases distract him. His ears twitched as they caught the distant rumbling of a voice, and he took McCree’s hand to pull him along.

“… I need that money! I earned it, and I have my own expenses, you know..."

“Silence! Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do  _ not _ presume. We have other informants who are less... offensive." The second voice, deeper and more refined, snapped in the still air, declining in an almost disgusted note. Hanzo frowned and raised his ears to capture as much of the conversation as possible.

McCree was right behind him, almost plastered against his back but still and silent as a statue.

"But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they? Etienne, he's talked, hasn't he? He knows where that old man is you're looking for, he told me himself – the guy’s in Riften, and Etienne seems to be an expert of…”

The rest of the phrase slurred in Hanzo’s head. McCree let out a low grunt, and Hanzo felt him tense against him; out of pure foreshadow, he turned around and grabbed the front of his armor, urging him not to move.

A good intervention, suggested more by instinct than senses or wits.

McCree’s face was not that of the man Hanzo had learned to know and, begrudgingly, appreciate. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his jaws clenched so tight his thick neck stretched into veins and tendons. And he trembled, the fast, deep shudder of someone ready to jump. 

“What are you doing?” he mouthed, shaking his head in frenzy.  

McCree bared his teeth and grabbed Hanzo’s wrist, eyes fixed on the nearest door. 

The noble-sounding voice spoke again, and Hanzo, still focused on trying to keep McCree from doing something incredibly stupid, only caught part of the words.

"You'll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As..."  
  
"So he  _ has _ talked! I knew it!"  
  
"Everyone talks, in the end”

A shiver made every hair on Hanzo’s body stand up in alarm. He stared up at McCree until their eyes met, and beyond the fury on the other man’s face, he saw fear and suspicion.

Yes, it was true. Everyone talks, in the end – and his days in the Dark Brotherhood had taught him way more than his share on the subject. One of the mind places he visited less willingly.   
  
"Can I... I could help you. He'd talk to me. He trusts me."

This made McCree’s features crumble in utter distaste, and his fingers almost crushed Hanzo’s bones.    
  
"You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers".   
  
Finally, McCree pushed Hanzo away.

_ No, I won’t let you throw your life away for anything this is _ . He was ready, more than ready to step in and physically stop McCree from harming himself, but as his hand went to his quiver he noticed something different in the thief’s eyes. Anger, yes, and everything else, but the stubborn determination to stick to their plan.

Something loosened in Hanzo’s chest – there seemed to be always more to Jesse McCree than met the eye. A quick look of agreement, and they both resumed their tiptoeing to the nearby room. Again, the profusion of fluffy carpets made their steps even softer, something they both had to be grateful for, and as they reached the threshold – each of them standing on one side of the door, low on their knees – two figures appeared in the dark, polished chamber. Behind a luxurious desk, a Thalmor mage with white hair slipping from under his black hood was staring in contempt at a ragged man with shifty eyes.

“N-No, no”, said such man – Gissur, if Hanzo recalled correctly – fidgeting with his fingers. He went pale and cast sidelong, concerned looks to the wall behind him. “I’ll wait outside, mh?”

Instinct and maybe a touch of magic elbowed Hanzo, who turned around and found McCree quietly loading his crossbow.

“Mine”, he said without a sound, already pointing at the Nord, and Hanzo caught the hint. He stood up, armed himself and took a deliberate step in the room.

Like it always happened in moments of such tension, time slowed its pace and hallowed Hanzo to take in a constellation of minute details – the stubble on the Thalmor’s chin, how his mouth opened slowly and his shoulders squared before the cry for help, how his long fingers twitched on the shiny dark wood, sparkles reflecting on the smooth surface.

But when he released his arrow, Hanzo stopped caring about anything but the gasp and gurgle crawling out of the elf’s throat. The shaft trembled at the center of his chest, and the Thalmor half stood up, only to tumble his chair over and fall into an undignified pile of haughtiness and black and golden brocade.

Before the body hit the floor, a massive shadow darted in front of him. Hanzo jumped back when McCree crashed into Gissur, not giving him even the time to catch his breath to scream, and sent the man flat on his back.

“Where is he?” A low whisper, sweet and lethal. McCree, straddling the other man but with a knee steadily pressing his stomach, held Gissur by his throat with his ethereal hand. Sparkling and translucent as it was, it seemed strong enough to collapse the Nord’s windpipe and turn his face to a deep purple. 

Gissur kicked and opened his mouth, fingers pathetically scraping at McCree’s forearm. Hanzo cast a hurried gaze all around – dead Thalmor, lots of documents, bookshelves, a door. A door? 

Isn’t this what Gissur was staring at just a minute ago? He quietly reached the wall and touched a silver handle.

Locked.

“Alright, you’ve got a point. Can’t talk if I’m chokin’ you, so here’s the deal: I’ll let you go, yer tellin’ me where Etienne is, and then we’ll see. But”, and at the sudden pitch in McCree’s voice Hanzo turned around. Humor was on his face, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes. Dark and deadly. “If you try to call someone, I’ll kill you with my own hands. Understood?”

The sputtering on Gissur’s side could’ve been a  _ yes _ , a  _ no _ , or a  _ potato _ , for all Hanzo knew, but clearly McCree was more for the first option. He slowly opened his fingers without getting off the other man’s chest and grabbed his shirt instead.

“No coughing”, he warned him, and Gissur nodded, holding his breath. “Now Etienne Rarnis – where is he?”

Gissur, still beet red and wheezing in a desperate attempt to follow McCree’s orders, lifted a shaky hand and pointed at the door behind him. 

“Ah. I knew it”, Hanzo said, rolling his eyes. 

An incoherent muttering bubbled on the man’s lips, and McCree leaned closer, his ear close to Gissur’s mouth.

“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that…”

“Ru-Rulindil. T-The key. To the t-torture cha…”

“Fine. I’ve heard enough”, and Hanzo blinked in the wrong moment, because he missed the movement of McCree’s flesh hand. He only saw a flash of steel and inhaled a breath thick with sugar and copper.

A crimson puddle spread under Gissur’s figure, his limbs dancing feebly in the last seconds before the end. Even if he couldn’t see his face, with his partner hunched above the victim, Hanzo knew everything all too well. How quickly life and blood could leave their rightful owner…

When McCree stood up – hand dripping red, an equally red splatter across his face – he turned to Hanzo.

“Problems?” he said, low and threatening.

“Who, me? Not at all, I’ve been doing this for a living for a decade. But you’re a sloppy assassin, remind me to give you some tips once we’re out of here”. He walked around the first corpse and to Rulindil’s, careful not to step into the blood. “Just out of curiosity – why?”

Clearly that death was troubling McCree more than it troubled him – a stranger standing in the way, and not a good person: no one would’ve missed him – because he closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Mess with the Guild and prepare for a payback. Etienne’s one of my folk and a good guy: I can’t imagine what’s been done to him”.

Hanzo crouched by the Thalmor’s body, took the arrow from his chest and swiftly patted the rich robes. A tell-tale jingling near the belt caught his attention, and he was not disappointed when he fished a ring of keys from the pocket.

“Here”, he said, throwing it to McCree, still standing over Gissur with a perplexed expression but quick to catch the throw. Hanzo frowned and joined him, inspecting the corpse with clinical eyes. “Look, it’s not a bad job _per se_ , but you got blood all over yourself. I can teach you to…”

“No, I’m fine – but ain’t one for close range combat, mh?” He poked Gissur with his foot and the hideous cut on his throat spat out some more blood. 

“As you wish. But better go now, you heard our friend, here? Your man is not far, and…”

“Etienne’s not my man. Not… not that way”.

The most ridiculous, out of place and awkward of comments fell into the silence, and Hanzo suddenly felt the urge to avoid looking at McCree. His face felt hot, but of course it had to be a mixture of adrenaline and reaction to the warm environment after the cold outside.

Of _course_.

He let McCree, equally flustered and with his hood well low on his brow, reach the locked door and open it with no effort; the keys dangled from the hole as he pushed the door and didn’t wait for Hanzo.

Narrow wooden stairs, pale and unusually simple if compared to the lavish estate all around them, sunk in the foundations of the villa, and Hanzo squinted in the darkness.

The air smelled foul enough already, with two fresh corpses right above them, but the more they descended, the worse the stench became. Blood and something else, something worse – piss and vomit and the old, stale reek of sheer terror.

When McCree opened the second door, Hanzo understood before his eyes could focus on the environment.

He knew that feeling, a toxic mixture of horrified waiting and excited curiosity. He remembered it from that small, suffocating room in the Sanctuary, the one he carefully avoided despite the general air of carefree pragmatism on the other members of the Dark Brotherhood’s side. It was only a part of their job, after all, and one Hanzo had never been interested in.

But he knew how a rack worked, and he recognized the oiled wooden structure in the middle of the hall, with black traces of old blood caked in the gears. Whips hanging from the walls, irons waiting patiently by lit braziers… all too familiar, all too shameful.

“Please, please let me go… I don’t know anything else, I told you all… but please, let… let me…”

And he knew _this_ , too. The pleading voice of someone ready to say every single truth and lie just to make it stop. McCree tensed in front of him, and Hanzo wrapped his arm around his waist to pull him back.

“Wait!”

“That’s Etienne, he’s…”

“We’re going to take him out, but dying is not a good way to do it! Look”, he whispered, pointing at the cages lined on the opposite wall. The blond man chained to the bars had to be Etienne, and the Thalmor soldier in front of him only a faceless female elf with a whip in her hand.

“Once again, and don’t forget the rules. You only talk when you’re asked a question. If you persist, I’ll have master Rulindil…”

“No! No, alright, you want it all again? Here it is. There’s an old guy in Riften, and he may or may not be this Esbern you’re looking for, but… he’s kind of crazy, lives in the sewers, and…”

“I’ve had enough of this”. McCree growled and wrestled himself from Hanzo’s grip. A click, the dart finding its place, and all Hanzo could do was stand back and witness as McCree pointed his crossbow ahead, aiming between the bars.

“Not an easy shot”, he said in a hiss, but McCree ignored him. He pulled the trigger and the dart hurtled in the cell and straight to its mark.

The Thalmor soldier stopped with her arm pulled back and the whip dangling to the floor. She stood still for a long moment, the dart protruding from the helmet, and Etienne sobbed.

“Just… do it already!” he shrieked, and then screamed some more when the body collapsed on top of him.

“He’s going to alert the…” but Hanzo bit his tongue. “No, well, screaming is fine when it comes from a torture chamber”. McCree wasn’t listening; he jumped over the railing, landed some good ten feet below with nothing but a soft thud and ran to the cell. Hanzo, still perplexed, followed him and found him snatching the corpse from Etienne.

The boy was in his twenties, dirty blond hair and a fair complexion under a layer of clotted blood.

“Hey, kid, it’s over. Look at me, Etienne, it’s over – can you hear me?”

“J-Jesse?”

“Mh-hm. Lemme take you down, you make an ugly hunting trophy”, but McCree’s voice was unsteady, his fingers fumbling with the irons clasped around Etienne’s wrists. Hanzo gasped in silence when he saw what the Thalmor had done to the young thief.

“My… my hands, Jesse. They… broke my hands. I’m done with the Guild, what will I do now? But I swear I told them everything! Just… they were never…”

McCree put the lockpick away and caught Etienne before he could fall.

“Hush, shortie, yer safe now. And…” A quick look at his hands, or what had been hands before the Thalmor’s intervention. A muscle contracted on McCree’s jaw, but he shook anguish away. “Yer a mess, but alive. Can you walk?”

“I… think so, but… who sent you? Gabe, right? He… he is looking for you, and not just him, also…”

“Stop it!” McCree snapped, one hand covering Etienne’s mouth. “Crying for your mom and pissin’ yer pants is fine when yer torturin’ you, but yer speakin’ too much. First, don’t worry ‘bout the hands, we have Moira and she’ll patch you up nice and easy; second, here, have this”, and he handed Etienne a red bottle.

“Thank you, Jesse”. Etienne took it in his palms, a clumsy gesture that made his face twist in pain; when he gulped down the potion, though, he seemed to calm down a bit. “Do I have to tell Ge…”

“I said shut up!” McCree shot Hanzo a fleeting stare and shook his head. “Where’s the way out?”

“Oh? There’s the trapdoor they use t-to dispose of the bodies”. A nervous giggle shook the young man’s shoulders. “But I’ll be happy to go through it on my own feet. You coming?”

“Not yet. Go straight back to Riften and tell ‘em all I’m comin’ home. _We_ ’re comin’ home”, he added, looking at Hanzo. “May the shadows watch over you”.

The last greeting sounded definitive, because Etienne nodded, serious, and took a step back. He was still battered, and his hands only a crude parody of their original self, but he looked more determined.

“I’m… sorry. I trusted the man who put me here, and… well, something more than trusted him, I’ve been stupid and endangered the whole Guild. Do you think Nocturnal will forgive me?”

“Yer main concern should be Gabe right now, but yeah, everything will be fine, and Gissur’s gone. Now go!”

And Etienne, with a quick, mischievous smile, limped away.

“Are you leaving him like this?” Hanzo asked.

“What?”

“In his breeches, barefoot, shirtless in the snow? If the Thalmor didn’t kill him, sure the cold will…”

McCree, watching Etienne disappear in the trapdoor at the far corner of the room, chuckled.

“He’s not as sensitive to the cold as someone else, here”, and he winked. Hanzo felt his face go warm again. “And most importantly, the Guild has plenty of outposts, he’ll find shelter soon”.

“That’s… relieving”, he muttered, looking around the room. “Did you hear, by the way? The Thalmor are after Esbern, but they don’t know where he is”.

“They do now. Seems like our man’s in Riften, and I can’t remember if he’s ever had anything to do with the guild…”

“We'll better check everything before someone comes”. Hanzo patted McCree’s shoulder and immediately regretted his decision – his hand felt too good where it was, and it was dangerously distracting. He almost jumped away, and only good luck led his gaze to the nearby table. It was covered in papers, scattered and covered in notes. 

“You search there, I’ll make sure no one’s on their way”. McCree too looked a bit redder than usual around his cheeks, and Hanzo was almost relieved to see him go. 

No time to waste, after all: he shuffled through the parchments, but none held any interesting information. Logs, registers, lots of numbers, a long list of suspects with elven names… Hanzo started to lose his temper and pushed the documents into a messy pile.

In doing so, his hand hit something thicker. It fell from the table with a soft thud, and Hanzo quickly retrieved it.

It was a small red book, with a handful of yellowish pages held together by a leather strap. Hanzo opened it and scrolled to the first page.

His breath caught in his throat.

“McCree”, he rasped. The sound was nothing more than a sigh, and McCree didn’t hear him.

Nevermind, for now: he had the proof they needed in his hand.

The first page read, in elaborate black letters, “Dossier: Esbern”. 

Hanzo read the few written lines so fast his eyes couldn’t focus on a single word. 

High priority, fugitive, wanted alive… this Esbern was precious for the Thalmor, too. 

“McCree, come here!” he said again, louder, this time. “I… think I found something”.

The thief appeared at his side as if from the shadows themselves, making no sound.

“What’s this?”

“They’re after Esbern, and this proves it, but… here, read this: ‘we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the  dragons , I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore…’ and so on”. He looked up at McCree and a triumphant smile trembled on his lips. “They’re not into the dragon’s return, and they, too, need Esbern for the same purposes as Delphine”.

“Oh, she will not like it”, McCree said, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Not that I mind, but this”, and he wiggled the dossier, “will grant us the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and maybe will erase some of that smugness from Delphine’s face…”

A door slammed in the distance. Hanzo and McCree stared at each other in absolute horror.

“Shit…”

“The trapdoor, now!” McCree took Hanzo’s hand and dragged him to the opposite side of the room, but here, the elf stopped.

“Wait! This is… just wait, please”.

A nameless sensation made his skin tingle, and no matter how McCree huffed and snarled behind him, Hanzo insisted enough to stop him. Now, kneeling behind the wooden shield dividing the trapdoor from the torture hall, he saw a yellow light dance up the stairs. 

Someone with a torch, and they were not alone.

“Hurry up, you fucking dog!”, someone snapped, and a second voice laughed harshly as a third person was slammed to the ground and moaned.

Hanzo tried to peek further, but McCree held him back. Even now, with his back at the wooden beams and the thief’s eyes begging him to stand still, Hanzo recognized the sound of a kick, resulting in a sob and a muffled curse.

“Speak now, or thing will get even worse for you. Who sent you? How did you enter the Ambassador’s solarium?”

“I… I don’t…”

Hanzo bit his lower lip and his face contorted into a pained expression.

Malborn.

Another hit, another groan.

“We found five dead Thalmor, you scum, and I’m not asking you again: who are you working for? I want names – of your boss, of your accomplices, because of course a puny bosmer like you could never best your superiors!”

Malborn sobbed louder when they hit him again, and again, until Hanzo lost it and turned around to check again.

The young elf was curled up in a ball, his mouth opened in a breathless grimace of pain, blood running from his nose and broken lips. Two Thalmor guards were standing above him, and one grabbed him by the back of his tunic and gave a sharp pull. The fabric tore and Malborn jerked on all fours.

“Maybe this will ease your tongue, slave. I won’t stop until I have something to lay at mistress Elenwen’s feet”.

The whip hissed in the air, and Hanzo didn’t close his eyes fast enough. The metal tip dug into Malborn’s back, and the elf screamed.

“Speak! Who’s sending you?” Another lash, another beastly cry. “What do they want with the Thalmor? How did they contact you? Where are the dragons from?”

With every question came more hits, and soon Malborn was drenched in blood and hoarse.

The guard wielding the whip was standing with his back at the hiding spot, the other one crouched on the elf and too interested in his desperate rattling to pay attention to the rest of the room. Hanzo stuck his head from the wooden screen and swallowed bile and hatred.

Malborn was a tiny thing, a bundle of rags and stubbornness that wasn’t going to live this brutal abuse.

“They’re gonna kill him”, McCree breathed out at his side, and now disgust was seeping in his tone, too.  
  
He was right. Every lash caused higher screams but no information whatsoever – that slender elf had more guts than hope or brain. And as a brave man, he was going to die.

_ Unless we do something. _

Hanzo was by no means a good person. He’d never considered himself a particularly moral person, even before he’d joined the Dark Brotherhood, and now, with the black stain of kinslaying on his soul, he was as far from the definition as ever.

But what good was still in his soul stirred and shook him, screaming that leaving that terrified boy to die just because he’d decided to help him was going to be unbearable. Yet another guilt to weight on his heart.

I can’t leave him. Even if he’s a nuisance, I owe him my life already – and a Shimada always pays his debts.

He crawled out of his hideout, swatting McCree’s hands away and ignoring his frenzied warnings.  
  
“Speak, worm! There’s no other outcome but death, why make it more painful than it has to be?”

The Thalmor were close. Hanzo sneaked in the shadows, avoiding the patches of light from the torches and light on his feet.

He could see the small scratches on the one with the whip’s armor, a black strand of hair sliding from his helmet.

His own reflection in the gilded greaves. 

Hanzo Shimada, assassin, Dragonborn, on his way to do something very stupid. The exact kind of thing he’d stopped McCree from doing just minutes ago. And as he silently slid his dagger from its sheath, he felt McCree’s eyes on him, with volumes of insults written in them.

The guard held his arm back, charging another strike; the whip slapped the air by Hanzo’s cheek, and that was it for him. He grabbed the leather strip, thin and hard in his fist, and jumped to his feet.

“Enough”, he whispered, tugging at it with his full strength.

The Thalmor could barely turn around – dark eyes and aquiline nose, a frown creasing his brow – before Hanzo’s blade made its way into his throat.

_Well done_ , he said to himself, snatching his arm back and avoiding the scarlet cascade from his victim. He hit again, more out of spite than else, and soon the whip fell from the armored hand, nothing more than a useless strip of leather.

Malborn, on the ground, cried again as he crawled back on his hands and knees. The second soldier opened his mouth to call his companions, but after a very loud and creative curse, a dart pierced his shoulder. 

“Fuck! Kill him already!” McCree yelled from the trapdoor, standing and aiming his crossbow at the too crowded scene.

Hanzo realized his mistake: his rushed action had put them all in danger. He couldn’t use his bow, and McCree would never risk an innocent life. Malborn and the Thalmor were too near each other, and the latter wouldn’t stop squirming.

And soon, hadn’t he done anything, more would’ve come.

Forgetting finesse, Hanzo grunted and charged. His shoulder sunk in the Thalmor’s stomach, and being such stomach covered with a thick layer of metal it probably hurt Hanzo more than his victim. Still, it was enough to unbalance him and made him lose his grip on the torch, that fell sizzling to the floor. 

But the surprise effect was gone. Wounded as he was, the guard was still ready to fight and dangerous. Hanzo tried to straddle him, but the elf’s arms were longer than his own, and apparently not less strong: his dagger couldn’t find a spot, one hand wrapped around his wrists and the other punching anything it could find.

Eventually, after a frenzied attempt at a more practical position, Hanzo found himself swaying to the side. A well-placed kick, and the Thalmor pushed him back. Nothing serious, and he immediately jumped back, ready to strike, 

“Malborn, get out of here!” McCree howled, but Hanzo couldn’t pay him much attention. The Thalmor was looming over him, sword at the ready and a killer look despite the dart in his shoulder.

Hanzo’s brain worked at maximum speed, searching for an opening, scanning the room for a way out, and then the world exploded in a red blaze.

A thick gush splashed across his face, and Hanzo blinked.

Malborn was peeking from behind the Thalmor’s shoulder. Pale, split lips retracted on bared teeth like those of a wild cat, his eyes were unfocused, his hair a wild tangle around his sharp face. His first stab had reached the Thalmor’s neck, but clumsily – too little strength, too little blood. The sword – Hanzo saw his first victim lacked his own – fell again, and again, and the Thalmor groped blindly at his throat, limp fingers abandoning his weapon.

Hanzo watched, half horrified, half fascinated: Malborn, clumsy, inexperienced and desperate, was out of control, and he couldn’t look away. Standing up, a bit shaken, Hanzo witnessed one last strike and the tears sparkling in the young elf’s eyes.

The realization made his heart clench with pity.

Malborn had never killed before, and now his innocence was gone.

“Malborn…”

He didn’t hear him. Now the guard was very much dead, his neck, face, and shoulders turned to a bloody throbbing pulp, but Malborn wouldn’t stop stabbing him.

Hanzo wiped the blood from his face and spat, and eventually, McCree appeared behind the kid. A big, shiny hand grabbed the thin wrists.

“Enough! He’s dead!” he hissed urgently. Malborn stopped immediately; his ragged, quickened breaths made his slashed back rise and fall in shock. His sword slipped from his small hand and clattered to the floor; when the echo died away, a heavy silence shrouded the torture room, only broken by Malborn’s panting.

“It’s alright, kid, you did great. You can breathe now”, McCree said in a much more soothing voice. He slowly let go of the elf’s arm, and Malborn collapsed on his knees. Hanzo, still tasting blood on his lips, stood up and took the cloak from the first corpse, gently wrapping it around Malborn’s shoulders.

“I hope this won’t hurt”, he mumbled, but the elf didn’t react, still mesmerized by the carnage in front of him.

“Up you go”, McCree said, taking Malborn’s arms and hauling him to his feet. “That bastard won’t be deader than this even if you glare at him the whole night. And trust me, we ain’t got all night…”

He shook him lightly, his flesh hand holding his chin.

“Hey, Malborn? Stay with me, kid, yer gonna be fine soon. But I need you to cooperate”.

Hanzo thought that such a rich, affectionate tone could’ve made him do anything, but carefully pushed the realization away. Still, as McCree showered Malborn in little nothings and tucked the cloak around his thin frame, his voice seemed to have the same effect on the wood elf. Still white as snow and trembling, he managed to clutch the cloak and nod once.

“Like this, good man. Now I’m lettin’ go of you, but only if you promise me not to fall down – yeah, keep brushing the fabric among yer fingers, it’ll help a bit”.

“N-Not much for the… the burning”, and he gingerly pointed at his back with his chin.

McCree beamed and ruffled his hair.

“If you can sass me, you can do everything. Now, Malborn, I need you to listen carefully: can you run from the trapdoor? Follow the tracks, and as soon as they lead you to a tavern, say that McCree’s sendin’ you”.

“I… no, I can’t, they’ll come for me!” His eyes went wide again, and more tears beaded on his lashes. “Why am I not dead yet? I’m screwed, I… I’m a walking corpse!”

“No, no, breathe, my friend. Malborn, we can’t take you with us”, and he called Hanzo with his eyes. “He’s the Dragonborn, and we’re basically running around with a target on our backs. But there’s hope for you!”

Hanzo lost the rest of the discussion. He didn’t need to hear it: McCree’s voice, his body language, his concerned look and how he cared deeply about that poor, renegade elf – everything made his heartache in a sweet, pleasant way.

_ You may be a thief, Jesse McCree, but there’s some good in you. Had life been kinder to you, you’d see it too… _

“… really?”

“Really. Yer friend to the Thieves’ Guild now, and I’ll make sure to find you a place to be safe. I promise it, but you must go now, and quickly, too!”

Malborn trembled and nodded, and eventually, he looked at Hanzo.

“Dragonborn?”

Still such a strange title, and Hanzo didn’t reply immediately. He roused and blinked in perplexity.

“Dragon… oh. Yes?”

“Thank you. It’s not worth much as of now, but I owe you my life…”

And with a last round of comfort from McCree, Malborn accepted to run away with them. When the trapdoor shut above their heads, wrapping them in a pitch black veil, Hanzo touched his front pocket.

Esbern’s dossier. They’d done it against all odds.

Crawling in what seemed like a giant rabbit hole, none of them seemed particularly inclined to talk. All they wanted was to leave the Embassy before Elenwen could notice the corpses.

When the end of the tunnel sparkled in a dull blue and the air became thinner and crisp with cold, Hanzo allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

“Malborn, that way – if luck assists you, and I think she will”, McCree said, patting his cloak and making it jingle with hidden coins Hanzo hadn’t even realized he’d been taking, “you’ll meet Etienne. Remember my words and…”

“Wait, aren’t you really coming with me?” Some color had returned to the elf’s face, and his shivers were now caused by the snow they were standing in. 

McCree shook his head.

“No, it’ll be safer for you if we part ways. But we won’t forget”, and he squeezed the elf’s shoulder.

Malborn waited a moment, biting his lip against the chattering of his teeth, but in the end, he nodded and turned around, walking away in uneven steps.

When the slender figure disappeared into the night, Hanzo chuckled quietly. 

“Do you think he’ll live?”

McCree was very serious.

“I know he will. I take my promises very seriously”. He turned to stare at Hanzo, and his face was so intense it burned in Hanzo’s heart. “Never forget this”.

“I… will try to remember it”, and why were his lips tingling like this? The aftermath of their adventure, no doubt. “We must go. Soon the Embassy will be buzzing like a kicked beehive”.

McCree’s features softened, and he smiled in genuine amusement.

“D’you know what, darlin’? It’s fun to have you ‘round. Let’s go”.

Escaping Elenwen’s snare was not an easy task: even if the soldiers were not yet on their tails, nature was a formidable enough adversary as it was. Hanzo plodded along in the snow, knee-deep in the white layer and freezing to death. McCree, unaffected by the cold as usual, marched behind him, erasing their traces with a pine branch.

“Sugar”, he said after hours spent stumbling under a deep blue sky slashed by the green and red of Northern lights, “it’s fine to pause for a moment, y’know?”

“I don’t need to”, Hanzo said stubbornly, ignoring his aching feet, numbed hands, and teary eyes.

“Would you stop for a moment if I told you I need to, instead?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and stomped his foot, but eventually gave up and crouched on a protruding root under a tree.

McCree grinned and joined him, their shoulders brushing together.

“Can’t believe we did it”, McCree chuckled, shrugging his hood off. Under the moons and the colorful lights, he looked…

_ Perfect _ .

Hanzo held his breath and closed his own mouth with his hand, even if the word hadn’t rung out in his voice.

Good for him, McCree seemed not to notice.

“I’m glad we got to take those two out of Elenwen’s grasp. Etienne is a friend, and Malborn deserves better than that Thalmor bitch”.

_ How can I be attracted to him in such a situation? We could die any moment, and here I am, drinking his voice in and trying to share his warmth… _

The truth, as usual, hurt, but Hanzo decided to ignore the sting in his pride and snuggled closer. It was really cold indeed, after all.

A feather-light touch brushed his cheek, and Hanzo, startled, looked up to find McCree alarmingly near. The weak light from his magical hand sparkled between them.

“Hey, Han – ‘s everything alright?” A low purring, and McCree’s thumb brushed a loose strand from Hanzo’s cheekbone.

“Y-Yes, I was just… wondering”. He gulped and grasped for the first reasonable topic. “Your hand. Can you… feel with it?”

McCree wasn’t smiling anymore, now. Close, so close Hanzo could count the freckles on his nose, feel his breath against his lips. Just like before that insane kiss in the kitchen – a fake one, of course, and yet…

“What d’you think?” McCree whispered, running the back of his hand on Hanzo’s cheek in a slow, tender caress. It sent shivers down his spine and ignited a fire under his skin.

And he couldn’t bear it.

“Yes. I think yes, definitely, thank you”, Hanzo said too loud, standing up and settling for a complete lack of interest for the weather. He wasn’t cold anymore, after all, quite the contrary, and he hated to admit it was because of McCree. “And I think we should move, the dawn approaches and we’re to go all the way down to Riften, so if you please…”

He resumed his walking with a raging flame of shame burning bright inside him.

After a while, McCree joined him, standing at a respectful distance behind him.

In the silence, all they could do was walk.

And, in Hanzo’s case, think about how everything was becoming even more complicated.

_ Right what I needed. An unwanted crush for the most unlikely of companions. But after all feeling like this… it’s not that bad _ , he said to himself, stealing a quick peek at McCree. A tiny smile bloomed on his lips, and Hanzo kept it to his heart, like a small treasure.

_ Maybe I don’t deserve it, but I can still enjoy it while it lasts. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like the Thalmor. Hanzo doesn't like the Thalmor. McCree doesn't either. So basically no one likes the Thalmor here. Murder husbands are love.  
> Malborn - poor Malborn, saving him is one of my standard choices in the game. I just can't leave him to die, even if he's less than excited about being rescued. The other staples are not killing Paarthurnax and Barbas because they're shaped like friends.
> 
> Guys I'm ever so grateful for the responses to this story, you're making me incredibly happy and giving me the energy to keep on writing, so thank you!


	8. Eln

_Fredas, 21th of First Seed, 4E201_

The last two months had Genji turned into a tangle of anxiety and insomnia. Being a good liar was part of his job, but he was utterly unused at lying to his friends – his family. McCree had been believable enough when he’d claimed he was going after a buried treasure somewhere North of Dawnstar. A lengthy mission, so no one had been really surprised when he hadn’t returned for weeks.

_He’s fine. If he’s not back yet, then Hanzo’s alive and he’s trying to convince him to come along._

The words were a steady throbbing in his heart and brain, and any time he closed his eyes he had to hold on to them to avoid drifting away into despair.

But then sleep wouldn’t come, and night after night he lay awake in bed, rolling around with the weight of his secret crushing his chest.

No matter if Sombra had kept her word – a decision made easier once Genji had shoved a plump bag of coins and diamonds in her greedy little hands – he was awfully sure his face gave everything away. Gabe hadn’t asked him anything yet, but the man was a riddle, and every deep gaze could hide a world of questions and doubts no one would’ve ever discovered. And how many times he’d found the man, his boss, the first agent of Nocturnal, check on him from the distance… not as many as his paranoid guilt suggested, but enough to make him wonder how long it was going to be before the showdown.

It was early morning in the maze under Riften, and Genji blinked at the ceiling from his ruffled bed. His hands, clutched on his chest, were restless as his mind.

_I’ll have to talk to Gabe, sooner or later; if he’s the one coming for me, it’ll only be worse._

How to do so, however, was still a blank void in his imagination.

Genji ruffled his hair and pressed his palms to his eyes, kicking the covers away.

The Guild was quiet, either out for work or deep into sleep, and the creaking of his bed was so loud it almost startled him.

_I can’t keep on going like this. I must keep myself busy or I’ll go insane once and for all…_

Luckily for him, idleness was not among Nocturnal’s favorite activities; there was always plenty to do, a city to run and money to gain. He splashed some cold water on his face and neck, and slipped into a soft pair of woolen breeches. No leather for him today, and as he buttoned up his white embroidered shirt he missed the familiar stretch of belts and throwing daggers across his chest. There was little he could do to mask the scars on his face, but the rest of his outfit, from the shiny black boots to the long cloak lined in wolf’s fur to the silver brooch on his shoulder, was fancy enough to make his masquerade as a wealthy salesman more than believable.

When he stepped out of his room in the quiet of the Ragged Flagon, guilt had relented enough to let put the usual spring in his stride. Not gone at all, but ignored efficiently and pushed to the back of his thoughts.

A good day at the market, that was what he needed. Making sure their contacts were working the right way, finding some new purchaser for goods of dubious origins and maybe a quick peek at the morning prayer at the Temple of Mara.

That other secret gnawed at his insides. If he had resigned himself to the unavoidable moment of truth about Hanzo, Zenyatta was a different story. Even if Sombra was suspecting something already, she still ignored all the times Genji had scraped some minutes from his daily duties to catch a glimpse of the priest. And more importantly, she didn’t know how, in every single one of these occasions, Zenyatta had searched for him in the crowd, blushing and blessing him with that sweet smile of his.

Even now, as he walked past the empty counter, Genji couldn’t suppress a grin at the thought. They had had little occasions to be alone in the last weeks, and nothing worth noting had ever happened – Zenyatta listened to his troubles, every now and then taking his hand or caressing his arm, and it was enough to warm Genji’s cheeks.

Hands into his pockets, hair standing up on his forehead, he smiled to himself at those memories.

_Maybe someday I'll find the guts to talk to Zen again, and of a different kind of personal matters…_

“Our little Sparrow is as early a bird as any skylark”. A female voice, deep and amused, snatched him from his reveries and made his heart jump in his chest for the wrong reasons.

“Moira? I didn’t expect to find you here…”

A slender figure stood up from a chair on the platform jutting into the pond. It took Moira a long time to stand at her full eight, and when she approached Genji her long tunic brushed the floor with such grace it looked like she was floating.

Genji froze and clenched his fists. If there was one person he couldn’t stand in the Guild, it was exactly the second one – after Gabe – he owed his life and his body to.

“Good morning to you, anyway. I’m patrolling the market, do you need anything?” he forced himself to say as politely as he could, but his scars itched nonetheless at his faint grimace.

Moira reached him; her long hands emerged from the gray sleeves of her robe and brushed back, like pale golden spiders, the hood covering her head. Uncanny, that’s how Genji would describe her high elf colleague, with a pointy face and mismatched eyes that always seemed to see too much in other people’s faces. The smile that stretched her thin lips was far from friendly, despite being perfectly appropriate.

“Oh, I see. And this explains the elegant clothes – have you thought about those scars? I wish you’d let me rework them a bit”, and she brushed her long nails on Genji’s cheek, her blue and red eyes squinting in clinical interest.  

Genji jerked his head back and took Moira’s arm; a part of his instinct he was not very proud of made his fingers twitch with the need to crush that think wrist in a pathetic late revenge, but he simply removed Moira’s hand from his face and breathed steadily to calm his tone.

“Thank you again for your offering, Moira, but as we’ve discussed already, I’m very happy with what you’ve done, and…”

“… and terrified to undergo the procedure again. I can understand it, young Shimada”. Her grin widened and she tilted her head. She was taller than Genji but lightly built, and even if her eyes were those of an all-knowing crone, her ginger hair and pale skin were spotless and bright. He really didn’t want to know how she could’ve achieved that.

“If you expect me to say it was nothing and I’m ready to do that again, you must’ve mistaken me for McCree. He’s the braggart of the gang, in case you’ve missed it”.

Moira tapped her claws on her chin and loomed over Genji.

“I miss him, true. He’s been away for a very long time, and who knows what could’ve been of him with all the creepy news of dragons burning the land…”

“He’s fine”, he replied too fast to be believable. A drop of sweat formed between his shoulder blades and trickled down his spine.

“How sure you are – but of course, it must be some of Nocturnal’s business, something only your Nightingale friends are into”.

“Exactly. And now, if you’ll excuse me, Riften awaits”. He gave a rigid bow and cursed to himself.

_I owe her no explanation. I’m a Nightingale of Nocturnal and above her…_

Still, she frightened him, bringing back memories of cries and maddening pain with a simple flick of her fingers. She’d saved him, true, but the nightmares of how her spells and rituals had crushed his mind and almost snapped his wits were a constant companion even after so many years.

From behind him, Moira sighed and wiggled her fingers. “It would make sense, but it’s also inconsistent with Gabriel’s current concerns. He seems worried about McCree’s whereabouts…”

Genji stopped with his hand on the rope serving as a railing on the crossing and didn’t turn around. He’d had enough of that smug face already, and there was no reason to humor her teasing.

“If the Guild Master has such thoughts, I doubt he’ll tell them to you. I’ve heard nothing of it”.

“ _Yet_ ”, she concluded, and no matter if Genji was determined not to spare her another look, he knew she was still focused on his back.

Exiting in the pink and golden light of dawn helped melt the layer of cold horror that Moira’s appearance had cast upon him, but her words still rang in his ears.

_Gabe knows, according to her. But he didn’t tell me anything – she was lying, of course, and only wanted to provoke me._

But the words sounded wrong in his head. There was only one possible explanation, giving the unlikely odd that Moira was sincere: Gabe knew more than Genji feared, including his role in McCree’s fake mission.

He ruffled his hair in more spikes and sighed.

If he was fine with facing the consequences of his actions, the idea of putting a friend in trouble was painful.

The delicate spring sun wasn's strong enough to warm his neck as he reached the square, but it seemed to dry some of the residual dampness of the sewers on him. The market stands were already buzzing with activity, with the salesmen fussing around to arrange their goods in the most captivating fashion.

A couple of people recognized him and greeted him almost reverently; their eyes, though, lingered on him a bit too much for his tastes, and Genji breathed away the anguish from his face. Once his familiar charming smile was back, his troubles weren’t smaller or more manageable, but he kept them at bay not to interfere with his routine.

He strode by a fruit seller and absent-mindedly picked a yellow and orange apple from the tray, gracing the woman behind the stand with a wink. She didn't like it, but neither was she going to argue with a member of the Guild over something as trivial as an apple, it was clearly written in her eyes – and Genji took mental note of it. The lady knew how business went and was smart enough not to protest.

_Keep it up like this, and your fares with the Guild will improve._

By the time his first round of the marketplace was done, the sky was a bright blue grazed with thin clouds, and the first buyers were swarming the square already. He sat on the stone balustrade around the stands and bounced the apple in his palms.

At least here everything was fine. No dragons in Riften – who would’ve wanted to burn such a useless, stinking piece of rotten wood? – and Nocturnal wouldn’t be mad at him for skipping on his duties.

He took a bite from the apple, licking away a droplet of juice from the corner of his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.

_My lady, Jesse is working for the family, even if not following any standard procedure. Can you keep him safe for me? I’ll find a proper compensation for this…_

But he knew that Nocturnal wasn’t listening, or maybe she just didn’t care. His eyes went to the temple facing the square and another face sparkled in his mind. The serene, golden features of Mara, slowly morphing into those young and elegant of Zenyatta.

_Oh no. I’m thinking about him again, and I’ve got enough problems already…_

A gentle tug at his sleeve made him turn around. No one in sight, and with his mouth still full of apple he looked down to a kid no more than seven staring at him with round blue eyes.

“You’re mister Sparrow, right?”

Genji swallowed hard and punched his chest to unstick the too big morsel.

“Uh – yes, that’s me. Is Constance Michel sending you? Does she need anything?”

He instinctively turned to the orphanage. In the last years, the young lady had done a lot for the orphaned children of Riften, and caught Gabe’s attention. And if the Guild was anything but a charity, sometimes doing something good for the sake of it felt nice. Genji’d been in charge of their direct relationship with Honorhall for a while now, jumping over Maven Black Briar’s funding and providing Constance with anything the kids might need – but discreetly, since she was too proud and honest to admit her involvement with those criminals. Good for her, the well being of her children was more important than her morals…

“No, we’re fine. I’ve never skipped a meal since I got there”, the boy grinned, showing a couple of empty windows in his teeth and plum, healthy (if not very clean) cheeks.

“Good”. This made him smile for real, and he extended a hand to ruffle the kid’s curls. “What’s up, little rascal?”

“There’s a man looking for you. A Redguard. He’s – er -  very tall”, and he stood on tiptoes, his extended arm and hand marking somewhere above Genji’s shoulder. “And he has dark eyes, and scars, and he speaks all nice. He gave me a silver coin to find you, and I think you’re in trouble because he said your wife is looking for you”.

“M-My wife?” Genji blinked and cocked an eyebrow. “Last time I checked I was not married”. But the man matched a very familiar description, and his heart sunk a bit.

“Your wife. Your Lady, he said, and he laughed when I asked him why he was talking on your wife's behalf”. The boy shrugged and ran his fist under his nose. “Still, he gave me a real coin, so I’m happy”.

“Ah”. Genji slid from the wall and handed the remains of his apple to the orphan, who took it without hesitation. “Did… did he tell you where?”

“Out there”, and he pointed at the city’s walls with his thumb. “West of Riften, I think. Gotta go now, or Constance will have me do breakfast chores”. He didn’t really greet Genji, just nodded and sprinted away.

_Gabe’s waiting for me by Nocturnal’s shrine. This doesn’t bode well at all._

He stared at the running child without really seeing him. Even the crowd in the streets blended in a colorful mist, and Genji swallowed hard.

The moment of truth had arrived, and procrastinating his meeting with Gabe was not going to do him any good; even so, the thought of leaving the relative safety of Riften and face the unavoidable scolding was not really fascinating.

He crossed his ankles and wiggled his foot, fingers drumming on the wall.

 _Waiting won’t bring me anything useful_ , he said to himself, but getting up and facing the city gates required him a lot of his determination. Passers-by moved at his appearance, and some respectful whisper rose from the streets – nothing he could care about, not now.

His heels tickled on the cobblestones, and as the archway above the gates cast its shadow over him, Genji shivered in the crisp air.

A part of him wished he could’ve gone back to the Flagon to wear his Nightingale armor – the only garment he felt comfortable into, with its mask to cover his scars and the muffled reassurance of leather – but deep down he knew he was unworthy of it.

The guards didn’t spare him more than a quick look. Genji didn’t try to read behind their helmets: maybe they were on the Guild’s payroll, or they didn’t know him as part of it. Either way, they didn’t bother him and he strolled past them, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders and burying his nose in the fur on its neck.

_Come on, it’s Gabe we’re talking about. He’s a friend first and foremost, it won’t be anything terrible._

And it was true, it was reasonable. Hadn’t he felt so guilty for lying to him, he would’ve believed his own words, too.

The woods around the city were still bare after the long winter; the first, bravest of buds peeked from the branches, and the countless birch trees were pale as bones over the hills.

No one followed him as he made his way around the walls. Even in his almost noble outfit, he could be silent as a shadow, and not a dead leaf crumbled under his feet. A way to reaffirm his own skills and comfort himself, and a very useless one when it came to Gabriel Reyes.

Because where Genji Shimada had the moves of a ghost, silent as a breath and lethal as a blade, the Guild Master didn’t seem human at all in his skills.

So, when Genji, still hunched over and brooding, emerged in the clearing that led to the cave where the sanctuary was, the soft voice chuckling somewhere behind him startled him enough to draw a sharp gasp from his throat and make him jump.

Genji brusquely turned around and found himself face to face with a figure of pure darkness. A tall, elegant shape that emerged from the shade of the walls with the grace of a feline and gained definition.

First came a smile, broad and white in a well-trimmed black goatee. Then a nose and the scars running from its side to high cheekbones, and eventually the darkest, most piercing eyes in the whole land. Gabriel Reyes slowly walked to Genji, and he could’ve looked intimidating in his old leather armor – not Nocturnal’s one, Genji noticed – hadn’t it been for the light in his eyes.

“Nervous, Sparrow?”

Of course his voice had caught that orphan’s attention. It was like warm honey, and Genji had never heard him use it in more than a conversational tone. Gabe didn’t need to yell to be obeyed.

“Who, me?” He grinned, and knew he was fooling no one. He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up some more, and with an apologetic sigh stared up at his boss. “Is it so evident?”

Gabe shrugged and closed the gap between them, patting Genji on the back.

“Guilt is a dangerous thing. It creates enemies where only shadows are – and turns everything into an ordeal. Why are you so concerned, kid?”

“You needed to talk to me. By… By Nocturnal’s sanctuary. That’s some tough shit, mh?”

A low laughter rumbled in Gabe’s chest.

“Not really. I won’t bother our Lady for something – I hope – so trivial, but I preferred to meet you out of town, far from prying eyes…”

“But Moira knows already”, he pouted.

Gabe shivered and some of the relaxed attitude slipped from his face. A quick gaze at the town and he squinted – he, too, had to undergo Moira’s care, and he didn’t particularly like her either.

“I’ve been asking questions indeed. Consider it a way to warn you… here, sit with me”, he said, crouching on a stone and patting the nearest one to invite Genji.

And what could he do but join him? With a sigh, he kicked the cloak back and sat cross-legged at Gabe’s side.

“Let’s start with honesty, for a change: there’s another reason I wanted you to believe we were going to meet Nocturnal herself”. Gabe perched his elbows on his knees and stared at Genji with an almost affectionate face. “You’re hiding something from me and from the whole Guild, and I needed you to remember who our Mistress is…”

“No, that’s not… entirely true”, Genji blurted out. His ears burned and he was starting to feel like a scolded child already – off to a very bad start.

“So why don’t you start from the beginning? I need to know where McCree is, and then why you lied to me”.

Genji took a deep breath. It hurt – mostly because Gabe was someone he considered more than a friend, a core part of his family. The one who’d found him bleeding to death in the woods and decided to give a chance to an angry, slowly recovering young dunmer with no one he could count on.

Gabe would never hurt him – and yet disappointing him hurt for real.

“Alright, let’s do it. It’s been two months more or less, now, but I… I…” He grabbed a handful of yellow grass and twisted it in his hand. “I asked McCree a favor, and he’s out there at my request”.

“And such favor was of the kind you wouldn’t want any other member of the Guild to know about. Why?”

So calm and smooth… Genji knew when Gabe pretended to be the most reliable person on Tamriel to wring out secrets from some opponent. Now, though, he sounded sincere even to his well-trained ears.

“Because it’s something… painful, I think. And personal”.

“And now an agent of Nocturnal is gone missing in the middle of a weird series of dragons attacking towns and burning down villages. Genji, you’re like a son to me, but I can’t tolerate half-truths from you”.

Genji briefly took his head in his hands and sighed so loud it was almost a sob.

“Do you think I haven’t been thinking about this for the past weeks? But I had to do it! I had to ask McCree to go and… and…” _Oh, come on, just spit it out. It won’t get any easier!_ “… and look for my brother”.

Done. And now Genji couldn’t look at Gabe or anywhere but at his hands, clasped around the grass in a great show of tendons and protruding knuckles.

Gabe knew his tale and nothing else – not a thing about how much he’d missed Hanzo and how his anger had eaten him from the inside for so many years.

But when a gentle, warm hand squeezed his arm, some of the tension relented.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was not Nocturnal’s wish, and before you tell me, I know I’m supposed to serve her and everything, but… I couldn’t go on with this weight oppressing my chest. If… if Hanzo is alive, I need him to know that I have forgiven him”. A mirthless smirk played upon his lips, and he looked up at Gabe with a shrug. “And now maybe McCree’s in trouble, too. I fucked up”.

Gabe winked, but the frown on his brow spoke volumes of his concern.

“Jesse’s more cunning than a weasel, and troubles actively seek him to test him, but he’s always made it out in one piece. Except for that one time, but it’s been ages… fine, then. Am I to believe you two did it all by yourselves?”

“Er – no. We… I asked for some help, but if you expect me to betray my fellows, you…”

“Sombra, am I right? She found your brother’s location, and then McCree went for him”.

“No!” Genji blurted out, a naïve reaction that made Gabe cock an eyebrow. “She is…”

“Genji, I know it. And it’s not a problem, I’m pretty sure she didn’t do it for free and she’s safe and sound in Riften. But I don’t like when this kind of secrets are kept from me. I could’ve helped you, too, had you asked”.

Genji’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head. Yes, Gabe would’ve done this and much more to help him, but asking him had been preposterous.

“The Guild needs you. And I didn’t want to… I was…” Another sigh of resignation. “Alright, I probably feared you’d talked some sense in me or whatever, while I was sure that McCree would’ve just listened to me and gone headfirst into this new adventure. I’m a terrible brother and an even worse friend…”

A heavy arm slid on his shoulders, and Genji found himself hurled in a rough embrace.

“No, but you're a ridiculous liar, when your heart is involved, that’s for sure. I’ve been suspecting something since McCree told me about his mission – and let me tell you this, as far as I know, he’s alive. I too have my sources, you know?”

“How much did you pay Sombra for this?”

Gabe’s face flushed and he blinked, gently pushing Genji away; it made him chuckle.

“A lot. Damn her clever mouth… by the way, no more secrets, alright?”

“Are you sure you want to know literally everything, or…”

“You can keep your adventures with that young priest for yourself, and…”

“Oh, great! How is it that everyone knows it?” Outraged and relieved, Genji crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of being a teen again was stronger than ever, but it wasn’t that bad anymore.

“… and remember that the Guild and the Dark Brotherhood have worked together for ages. Once your brother’s here, he may need a place to stay”. Gabe stood up and held out his hand. Genji took it and unfurled from the rock, obscurely comforted by the Master’s words: he wanted to believe Gabe had some gift of premonition.

“So you’re not angry with me?”

“Not anymore. Nocturnal is a whole different matter, but she’s been silent as of lately, and apparently the Guild is thriving. If anything’s on her mind, she’s not so pissed off at us”. A pat on his back, and he pushed Genji forward. “Now let’s go back to work, shall we?”

Genji followed him back to the main gates, looking back but once at the hidden shrine.

_Dragons in the sky, and I defy Nocturnal’s will… I pray tragedy is not upon us._

He was not surprised when Gabe literally disappeared before they walked under the archway – the man was not one to show his face around too often, a legacy of his mysterious past as a spy.

When the buzzing of the market, now at its full chaotic and colorful potential, invested him, Genji came back to the present. Whistling between his teeth, he realized, not without some wonder, that his heart felt lighter. One less thing to worry about.

And if Gabe was right and McCree was doing fine, then his search was not over yet – Hanzo lived, and was only a matter of time before McCree would find him. After that… well, there was enough to ruminate on already.

Walking under the colonnade around the square, Genji peeked up to the Temple of Mara at his left. The doors were open, and a lanky figure in dusty yellow robes was sweeping the steps.

Genji stopped by the fence surrounding the yard and smiled dreamily. Now that his concerns had quieted down a bit, even the forecast of meeting Moira again, or to face the smugness in Sombra’s chattering, was bearable. Taking a moment for himself to admire Zenyatta’s tall silhouette, lined in gold by the bright sun, was a pleasure he could indulge in.

A worshipper, an old woman with a long white braid down to her waist, limped up of the stairs. Zenyatta stirred at her uneven steps and immediately dropped the broom, jumping down to offer her his hand.

From the distance, Genji couldn’t hear their words, but the bright toothless smile of the lady expressed the same tenderness he felt in his heart. Slowly, speaking to her ear, Zenyatta accompanied her to the entrance, kicking the broom away – talk of priorities, Genji thought with growing affection.

Before disappearing into the soft darkness, Zenyatta turned around. His golden eyes went large and sparkled when he recognized Genji standing there, and his face turned a coppery shade of pink.

Still, when Genji gingerly waved his hand in a silent greeting, the young priest graced him with one of his warm, dashing smiles. He lingered on the threshold some more, then he jumped up and nodded at someone behind his back, and with a last grin, he closed the door.

Genji let out a deep sigh, nothing like the many he’d suffered that day. Contented for the first time in weeks, he slapped the fence and took a step back, ready to resume his role in the routine of Riften.

_It’s going to be alright._

 

 

And indeed, in the next few weeks things seemed to be falling into place nicely. Aside from some good-hearted jokes on Sombra’s side, now that his plan to find Hanzo was of public domain and he didn’t have to hide anymore, Genji felt at home like rarely before. He smiled more often and listened eagerly to the news rolling around Riften from the countryside – even those weird tales of a fellow dunmer being Dragonborn. It made him giggle: how pissed off Ulfric Stormcloak would be to discover that one of those he called “invaders” was the hero his legends sang about.

Still, McCree was still missing, and the lack of news on his side was nagging him. He hadn’t appreciated Gabe’s idea of sending Etienne to scout out for him, mostly because the guy, as trustworthy and loyal as he was, was also ridiculously young and prone to develop untimely crushes on random strangers. A miracle worker when it came to lockpicking, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. But if the boss had decided to send the least involved person in this mission, Genji and the others could only accept it and move on.

And so Genji was doing, idly walking from the docks after an accurate check of some smuggled cargo he’d got news about. Good stuff, even if now his fingers smelled like saffron and ginger and his nose pickled from the excess of spices he’d sniffed. Without the Thalmor’s taxes, it would’ve provided a nice income, whose biggest wedge was going to fatten the Guild’s vault.

He was happy with his work when he set foot on the last step with a grin.

_I’m still good at doing this. Nocturnal always appreciates an enterprising spirit, and this will satisfy her enough to turn a blind eye on…_

His thought faded into a jump at the center of his chest, and immediately after into the rumbling of silent outrage.

Zenyatta, carrying two heavy bags in the crook of his elbows, was leaving the market; at first, Genji only blushed at how lovely he looked, with his smile unfaltering despite the weight of supplies for the Temple – and he reminded himself to subtly do something to help the priests – and the sun shining on his recently shaved head. He didn’t notice him, even if he was close enough Genji could hear him softly hum a tune. But when a thick figure popped from one of the columns and approached, his hair stood up on the back of his neck in alarm.

“Hey, you”, the stranger slurred, his voice heavy with booze even that early in the morning. Genji rolled his eyes and waited by the railings, hands gripping the bars. “You a priest, aren’t you?”

Zenyatta briefly closed his eyes, sighed, and when he turned to the man his usual kind look was back on his face.

“I am, my friend. If you’re seeking for Mara's guidance, I suggest you come with me to the temple, where…”

“Where’s my food, then? I’ve come here ‘cause folks in Windhelm said there’s always something for the poor at your temple. Give it to me”, he snapped. Genji growled and stood up, emerging to the marketplace with his grin still in place and a flash of teeth between his lips. Zenyatta noticed him and didn’t react as Genji would’ve expected – no bright smiles or relieved looks, just a cock of his eyebrows and a subtle smirk.

“Your food”, the priest resumed, eyes still locked with Genji’s behind the stranger, “will arrive in due time. If you want to come and meditate at the altar, though, you’re more than welcome, and I’ll happily join you to…”

“Shut up, boy. Spent my night in the cold and now I want to eat, and if you don’t give me what I need…”, the man grumbled. He took Zenyatta’s wrist in such a fierce grip that the priest gasped and let go of one of his bags. Apples, turnips, and potatoes rolled on the floor, and some concerned looks started to come in his direction from the people around them.

Genji stepped forward and his hand instinctively went to his belt, where a couple of his trusted knives where hidden under the folds of his tunic.

“Hands off, gentleman”, he hissed, and the stranger – a burly Nord with greasy black hair and a single watery eye in a face riddled with pox scars – turned to face him, without letting go of Zenyatta.

“And who would you be, you fop? No one’s asked you for your intervention, so get lost or…”

Habit and training kept Genji’s face to show the full range of his emotions; his mouth didn’t twitch, his eyes stood cold and smiling as he approached the man some more.

“I’m under the impression”, he said, wrapping his fingers around one of the knives, “that you have no idea who you’re talking about. New in town, am I right?”

“Mind your own business, asshole – unless you want to…”

“Gen – Sparrow, no”, Zenyatta said, shaking his head in mild exhaustion.

Genji frowned and shot him a quick look.

“You looked like you needed a hand, and this guy, here, must learn what kind of place Riften is…”

The thug, momentarily distracted by their exchange, clenched his jaws. Zenyatta didn’t even try to wrestle himself from his grasp and huffed.

“I’m perfectly in control of the situation. You’re very sweet in worrying about me, but…”

“Oh. You think I’m sweet?” and despite everything, Genji smiled for real.

“Stop it, you two! Give me some money or some food or anything”, the stranger blurted out, shaking Zenyatta. “Or else…”

“You are, Sparrow. But I don’t need your help”.

“Excuse me, but I vehemently disagree. This piece of shit weights twice as much as you, and he’s clearly such a newcomer in town that he doesn’t know how to behave”. He slid an inch of steel from his belt and bared his teeth in something similar to a smile, only way sharper. “I’m just here to teach him some good manners”.

“And as I’ve told you already, this is unnecessary”. Zenyatta winced as the hand around his wrist tightened, and his thin eyebrows lowered over his eyes. “This is mighty rude of you, my friend. Mara will forgive you, and I’ll ask her to forgive me too for my intemperance”.

The large Nord blinked in confusion, and as his face contorted into another grimace of anger, Zenyatta dropped his other bag with a thud. Under Genji astonished (at first, then awed) gaze he bent his arm and twirled on his heels, carrying the stranger with him in a weird round of dance and yellow robes. In the blink of an eye, the priest grabbed the front of the other man’s dirty tunic and, leveraging the heavy body on his hip, rolled him over his back and threw him over the railings.

After a brief and loud fly, the massive body landed in the canals with a splash, and Zenyatta leaned against the railings to look down.

“If you’re still interested in a free meal, come to the Temple at the bell of midday. No hard feelings”, he said to the cursing, drenched man floundering in the shallow water. Then, with a pat on his chest to adjust his crumpled tunic, he turned to Genji with – finally! – his usual sweet smile.

“Excuse me, Sparrow. I can be a servant of the lady of peace and forgiveness, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to remember that I’m just a man”.

Genji remembered to close his mouth and blink after staring at Zenyatta for a long, speechless moment that made the priest’s golden brown skin blush.

“I… I’m impressed. I only wanted to help you, though…”

“I know, and you can do it now in a way less violent way. There are turnips all around…” he said, crouching and retrieving his scattered groceries. Genji dropped to his knees and, ignoring the several people subtly looking at them, quickly collected the vegetables and placed them back in Zenyatta’s bags.

“And now you probably consider me some nosy self-indulgent boaster who can’t keep it together when he sees a cute priest being threatened by a drunkard…”

Zenyatta chuckled.

“As you've seen, I could handle it on my own, but your willingness to intervene is much appreciated. Almost as… as much as the cute part”, he stuttered, keeping his face low. Genji, fingers hovering on a potato, lost his words and feasted his eyes on the adorable pink flush on the priest’s ears and neck.

“Well, you’re full of surprises”, he forced himself to say, looking down to place the potato in the bag, before blindly reaching out to retrieve another fallen one.

“Maybe I am”, Zenyatta said with more mischief than those big eyes could suggest. His hand closed on Genji’s and squeezed gently but deliberately.

Genji’s head shot up, and he found he was way closer to Zenyatta than he’d imagined. So close he could see every single one of his dark long lashes, or how rosy his lips were.

He swallowed and linked his fingers with the priest’s.

“I wonder what kind of surprises you’re talking about…”

“Besides knowing how to throw a man twice my weight off a wall? I have some tricks up my sleeve”.

Genji laughed softly, caressing the back of Zenyatta’s hand with his thumb.

“Those bags seem really heavy. I’d be honored if you allowed me to carry them for you to the temple; you’re clearly more than able to do it yourself, but I… would like to…”

_Stay with you, and I only need the most pathetic excuse I can think of. I could do better, but nevermind, just… just say yes._

And his heart fluttered to his throat when Zenyatta lowered his eyes and blushed some more.

“You have my thanks, then. The… the kitchens of the temple are on the back”. He picked one bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Follow me”.

Genji promptly turned his back to his role as a thief and took the remaining bag with such a haste it almost dropped from his hands. Eager to obey, he trotted in Zenyatta’s trail with his skin prickling with barely contained excitement.

When they crossed the gates to the churchyard and turned to follow the wall to the porch, he paced faster and reached the priest.

“May I hope there’s another, shorter way to the kitchens, but you preferred to take the least conspicuous one?”

The corner of Zenyatta’s mouth turned up with a smirk.

“Who knows…”

“Well, you should know. And a man can hope, after all, even if it’s just a dream, and probably a very inappropriate one. And…”

They’d reached the back of the building, a closeted small garden that smelled like herbs even at the beginning of spring, silent and empty but for the two of them. Genji's words muffled against the touch of delicate fingers and he gasped, staring into Zenyatta’s eyes.

“You’re right, it’s very inappropriate. Even more so on my side, since I should know better than to lure a Nightingale in the back of the Temple like this – but as I said, a priest is just a man. A man with an aching heart and eyes to see”.

And such eyes looked so dark in the shadows, his long neck peeking from the folds of his hood calling for Genji to mark it with his teeth.

The priest’s hand slid from Genji’s lips and he looked intently at them for a long moment before grabbing the front of his shirt and pull him forward.

When their mouths clashed together, all Genji could do was gasp against the soft and unrelenting pressure and let his hands twitch with surprise.

Silly as he looked, with the bag once again open at his feet and groceries rolling on the grass, and his eyes open wide, he couldn’t but rejoice inwardly. He took a deep, shivering breath and wrapped his arms around Zenyatta’s thin waist, and let him pull them together in a tight embrace. He tentatively parted his lips, and the soft movement ignited something in the priest’s demeanor. His tongue was met by an enthusiastic, wet caress and in a second their mouths, slotted together, were too busy to ask questions or worry about anyone walking on them.

 _How inappropriate can this be?_ He wondered, and nothing mattered anymore when Zenyatta pushed him back against the wooden door and loomed above him, hands stronger than they seemed sinking in his hair and tugging just right.

 _Very_ , he replied in his mind as he found his hands fluttering on the small of Zenyatta’s back, eager to slide down and _grab_. As Zenyatta, panting lightly among sloppy kisses, bit his lower lip and dragged his tongue along the small throbbing pinpoints his teeth had left, Genji steadily took him by his sides and realized that the chaste robes were thin enough to leave little to the imagination – soft curve of muscles and bony jutting of bones, and heat, so much heat the air around them seemed to melt.

A steady throbbing rose from his crotch, and Zenyatta bucked slowly against him. It was reassuring to see that Genji wasn’t the only one coming undone for something as trivial as a kiss.

A kiss he’d dreamed of and craved for months, since the beginning of this new chapter of his life.

And he couldn’t but stop, pulling back just enough to breathe against Zenyatta’s slick lips.

“I'm not getting you in trouble, am I?”

Zenyatta wasn’t smiling, now, face darkened with need and eyes hooded.

“My… brothers and sisters would disapprove, yes”, and he threw his arms around Genji’s neck, taking him in for another burning kiss. Genji moaned against the other’s mouth and opened his legs just a bit to better accommodate him there. “But I’m not my brothers and sisters”.

Full of surprises indeed. All that passion was unexpected to say the least, but damn, he liked it.

“Even if I’m… a thief? A criminal, a plague to this city, a…”

“… I don’t care”, Zenyatta said with brutal force, stooping to bite the side of Genji’s neck hard enough to make him squirm. And not in pain alone. “I only know that your eyes speak to my soul, and your heart shines in your shadows like a bleeding gem”, he whispered on his skin.

Genji, despite his remarkable experience with different genres and races (although he was very determined _never_ to do some things with a khajiit again, the hairballs killed the mood), felt his knees weak and his cheeks on fire at such a declaration. The bulge in his pants, straining the thick fabric and rubbing against Zenyatta’s thigh, was going from pleasantly hard to painfully so, and Genji growled from the bottom of his throat. He threw his head back and closed his eyes against the morning sky – or that was the plan. A blissful moment out of his own mind, savoring the young body pressed against his own and the promise of something more to come.

His lashes never met his cheekbones.

A young face, with blonde pigtails and a splash of freckles on a tiny nose, peeked from behind the wall enclosing the garden and stared at him with open curiosity.

“Oh fuck”, he gasped, and his tension transferred to Zenyatta, who stood back and followed his look.

“Indeed”, he said, noticing the child and quickly pulling his hood over his head to mask his embarrassment.

Genji stepped in front of him to save what was left of their dignity and frowned to the kid.

“It’s rude to spy on people”, he scowled, but the girl merely shrugged.

“I have a message for you. Your boss said Etienne’s back with news”.

A lightning in broad daylight. Genji felt the ground open at his feet and threaten to swallow him. He stared and stared at the little girl, who absent-mindedly picked at some moss among the rocks.

“He’s… back. Did he…”

 _… tell anything about Hanzo? How is McCree?_ But the sentence never properly formed, and what little words he could wrung from his tongue were nothing but a strangled gasp.

Etienne back with news. Bad, good, anything about Hanzo at all? How was it possible that mere seconds ago all Genji wanted was to keep kissing Zenyatta and forget everything?

Zenyatta, though, was more than a gentle priest with a scorching gaze and lips as sweet as honey. His hand took Genji’s and shook him a bit.

“Go”, and his voice didn’t sound as dizzy with passion anymore. It was practical, sincerely concerned – not that of a priest listening to a confession, but more of a friend who cared too much. Genji, his face still numb with shock, got lost in his own furious heart beat and in those big eyes of gold that tried so hard to keep him centered on reality. “Genji, go. This is where your life changes, and I’m not going anywhere. But I want you to be whole”. He raised his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Yes, I… I’ve got to go. I’m sorry, I…”

“Come on, don’t leave him waiting. I’ll pray for you”, but the following wink suggested a peculiar kind of prayer. Genji sunk his teeth in his lower lid and nodded, painfully sliding from Zenyatta’s hand.

One last look full of longing and promises, and without anything but a courteous bow, he bolted away. He ran past the girl, stopped dead and quickly turned around.

“Here”, he said, reaching out in his pocket and grabbing any coin he could find. “For your trouble”.

“What – sir, you’re really generous or really stupid!” the kid said, her small palms full of a handful of copper and gold coins. Her huge dark eyes scanned Genji’s face, and he shook his head. Zenyatta was still crouched in the grass, picking up his bags with a subtle smile on his lips.

“The latter. Thank you”, Genji said. The girl opened her mouth to add something, but he quickly walked away, leaving her by the wall in her faded old clothes and a small fortune she didn’t even had pockets to hide in.

Genji sprinted through the marketplace and hit a couple of innocent bystanders, barely acknowledging the staggering shoppers with a hurried “Sorry”.

He didn’t even stop to make sure no one was following him and jumped headfirst over the gate to the Ratway. He bolted through the countless staircases and corridors, a pathway his feet knew by heart, with his head drumming and his lungs burning.

And when he finally stopped by the pond, hair sticking to his forehead and shirt damp on his back, he steadied himself to the brick wall and looked to the Ragged Flagon.

A good portion of the whole Guild was gathered by the counter, and Etienne’s voice rose above the hushed chattering.

Genji’s ears sprung up, desperate to catch some of his companion’s words and to erase part of his most crippling doubts, but he couldn’t hear anything but his excited tone.

_Excited his good. Gloomy and desperate would be bad._

His chest felt lighter as he walked around the pond and joined the others at the counter, still panting.

Etienne looked battered, and it was an understatement. His clothes were ragged, his hair a dirty tangle of mud and something that looked too much like blood for Genji’s tastes – and more brownish-red stains down the young man’s face solved his doubt. There were bruises on his face, and one of his eyes – albeit spry and attentive – was swollen to the point of being half closed.

Gabe was the first to notice Genji approaching, but he just cocked his head up and gave him a rapid smile; then came Sombra, who turned around to look at him, and her movement revealed Moira, busy working on Etienne’s hands.

Only, they barely look like hands at all.

Genji staggered when a fit of nausea grippled his jaws. Those were not the injuries of a fighter, nor they could be the result of a mishap on the long road. The angry red bruises on his wrists, the swollen knuckles and contorted fingers were the product of deliberate human cruelty.

“… and then Gissur said 'Hey, there’s this chance of business, but I need a smart fella by my side, and you’re the only one I can trust', so I said to myself that it was too good an opportunity to waste it, and I hadn’t found nothing of Jesse yet, am I right?”

“Would you please stand still, Etienne? I’m trying to evaluate how serious the damage is…” Moira muttered, frowning as she lifted one of Etienne’s wounded hands to his long pointy nose.

The blond thief chuckled.

“Not nearly as serious as it used to be, trust me. By the way, let me spare you the details, but as I said the Thalmors were after this Esbern guy, but I knew nothing of him, right? But they didn’t believe me. And I was already sure I was going to die in that cell, when… oh, hello there, Genji!”

“Welcome back, Etienne. I didn’t mean to interrupt you – please, go on”. And he sounded pathetic, a man struggling to keep his composure with the voice of an impatient teen. He suddenly wished Zenyatta and his calming aura were near.

“Alright, alright – mind you, this cell was a real small one, and in the corner of a torture room. There were chains and whips and…”

“You told us the gore part already, Etienne, and you weren’t even shy with the details, despite your more recent statements”, Gabe said, patting the young man on the shoulder. “Go on”.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was standing there, chained and ready to die, when guess who shows up in that dungeon?”

The theatrical pause only managed to blow on Genji’s tension. He had to grab the nearest chair – the one Sombra was sitting on – to stop himself from doing the same with Etienne’s ragged shirt and shaking him for answers.

“Our very own Jesse McCree! And he wasn’t alone either, but this is the most unbelievable part, he…”

“Wait, kid, one thing at a time. How is Jesse?” Gabe patted his shoulder, and for how comforting his deep voice was, there was urgency in his tone. The concern of a father, almost.

“He was alright. Covered in blood, but I’m rather sure it was not his own. I don’t know what he was doing in that embassy, or why he was with the Dragonborn, but…”

“ _What?”_

A chorus of four voices interrupted the narration. Even Moira, cold as she usually was, looked up from Etienne’s hands with her eyes round with awe.

This brought a smug grin on Etienne’s lips. He took his time sipping from a mug and chewing on a piece of bread, enjoying the absolute attention.

“I shit you not, there’s an actual Dragonborn around, and this makes sense with all the dragons flying over Skyrim, doesn’t it? He was… a good person, I suppose. More or less as tall as me, buff, red eyes and…”

His voice dropped and he squinted at Genji.

“… and he looked a bit like you”.

“Oh, please, if you’re to start with the old litany ‘all elves look the same’ I won’t be kind to your many fractures”, Moira snapped. Her anger was quickly covered by Sombra’s many questions – Dragonborn? Did he do anything _dragonish_? Did he spit fire? – but Genji couldn’t hear her.

A small flame burned in the pit of his confusion. Dared he hope the impossible was becoming possible? His hands tingled and tears prickled the corner of his eyes.

“No, no, just a broody dunmer with Genji’s same eyes and long black hair and a worn out Dark Brotherhood armor, even if he’s scratched all the symbols away. No fooling old Rarnis, tho, I recognized it immediately. And…”

“But where is Jesse, then?” Gabe pressed on. Etienne winced when Moira started to unwrap the dirty bandages around his hands.

“Ouch – I think he’ll be here soon enough, if I heard correctly. Apparently the Dragonborn insisted in freing one of the Ambassador’s slaves, and there’s word in our bases that this elf, this Malborn, has served the Guild well. Must be Jesse’s intervention, and…”

At this point, Genji lost his temper. He lifted Sombra and her chair and moved them aside, causing some outraged outbrusts on her side, and planted his hands on the counter in front of Etienne.

“Where is Jesse?” he asked again, ice in his voice where Gabe’d been warm and encouraging as usual. Etienne frowned and shuddered, backing away a bit at such a display of impatience.

“I… I can’t be sure, Sparrow, but he said he was going to leave the Thalmor Embassy and head here, if I recall correctly. He took a different route, but if nothing happened to him on the way here he…”

“When?”

“Today. By night, I think. But if he’s late it won’t be my fault”.

The small fingers touching his forearm startled Genji, whose eyes were still all for Etienne and his worried, drawn face. Sombra squeezed her hand lightly, but enough to take Genji off his moment of irrational, chaotic anger.

“it could be him, you know, don’t you?” she whispered. Genji closed his eyes.

“Your brother”, Gabe concluded.

_Yes, it could be him. It could be Hanzo, but this doesn’t make any sense – a dunmer Dragonborn? Nonsense. Maybe Hanzo is with McCree, but this Dragonborn tale is impossible. Etienne is confused and exhausted, I can’t give him much credit…_

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel the attention of all his companions on him. Curiosity on Moira’s side – as usual, her single minded attention to every detail was frightening, and she craved to know more – and perplexity from Etienne. An unwanted sense of friendship from Sombra, whose researches had apparently led to another success, and instead of boasting she wanted to be sure Genji was going to be alright.

And Gabe, his Guild Master, a fellow Nightingale, a mystery and the best person he’d ever met after his ‘death’, waited. For Genji to tell how he was feeling, to make a decision, to confirm what everyone was thinking – that there was more to McCree’s departure than many knew.

It was too much for Genji.

“I don’t know”, he blurted out, lifting himself from the counter and running his hands in his hair. “I don’t know and I’m not sure I should know…”

“Now that you all tell it, that guy could be your brother indeed, you know? He looks a lot like you, even if he’s shorter and angrier and his nose is bigger, and…”

“I need to stay alone”, Genji interrupted him. A blinding headache bloomed behind his eyes, and every trembling light, every face was too much to look at.

“Wear your armor, then. You’ll patrol the outskirts of Riften”, Gabe said curtly, patting Genji’s shoulder. “Bring us news of McCree’s return as soon as possible”.

At this, Genji could’ve cried.

Gabe knew. Maybe he’d known all along that whatever lie McCree’d told the Guild was twice as heavy on Genji’s soul. He peeked up to his boss’ serious face, and only for him a tiny smile crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“Yes”, he said.

 _Thank you_ , he thought with enough strength to make his heart hurt.

He turned his back to the Guild and ran to his room; in seconds, despite his shaky fingers, the black armor of the Nightingale embraced him in shadows and leather, and to his surprise, when he ventured back in the Ragged Flagon, he found the counter empty.

Etienne screamed in pain from somewhere in the depths of the Ratway, but he tried not to think too much about it. Moira could heal impossible wounds, but cared little about her patients’ suffering in the process.

Riften was different when he emerged to the surface. The sun was too bright, the faces too weird, as if them being made of skin and noses and eyes was something new and terrible. Genji was secretly happy not to meet Zenyatta – the priest deserved him at his best, and not this anxiety-plagued, pathetic thing.

It was easy to sneak in the shadows, both thanks to his armor and to his stern determination not to be seen, and when he left the walls from a lateral hidden exit through a canal, his nerves sizzled under his skin.

Where was McCree going to arrive? What were the odds of Hanzo still being with him? A secret part of his soul wept in joy at the realization that his brother was alive – and such part was not very rational, since he had no proof the mysterious dunmer was Hanzo indeed, but he felt it in his bones and in his blood, an echo of their long lost bond that still rang inside him.

The trees, covered in shy green buds, welcomed him over the hills, and Genji was close to letting a deep breath escape his lips. It was better, here, than in Riften. He had something to look out for, something to wait and pray for. The chance to be whole again.

_And what if things won’t go as I had planned?_

He’d been so busy hiding his secret in the past months that he hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of going this far in his plan, and now all he could feel was nervousness and suffocating expectations.

For hours, fatigue and thirst forgotten, he paced around the city’s perimeter, startled more often than he like to admit by the smallest of noises. A rabbit jumping from its hole, a deer grazing in the distance, a caravan of khajiit approaching on the main road.

Hours dragged on, slower than they’d ever been. The sun crawled in a sky that seemed made of molasses, for how labored its path seemed, and with every breath he took, Genji lost some of his control.

_I’m feeding my hopes with illusions and scraps of information. This won’t lead to anything, and any scenario I could come up with would probably clash with reality._

Still, the more he repeated this sensible thought to himself, the less he believed his own words. Once, in the late hours of a motionless afternoon, while he was crouching by a birch tree and fiddling endlessly with his throwing knives, he allowed an intrusive thought in his brain.

It involved an astonished Hanzo and a slow smile on his lips, an embrace that mended their old quarrel and turned the world to a better place. It was hope, and Genji was too bitter and damaged for something as delicate as hope.

He crabbed his head and bit his tongue to stifle a sigh.

_This won’t happen. This can’t happen._

He pressed his palms to his eyesockets until his eyes throbbed and tiny lights sparkled white in the red darkness.

How long would he have to wait? Night was coming, a silent promise in the East with red clouds and long shadows under the trees.

He sighed and clawed at his forehead, shaking with tension.

And then, out of the blue, a voice laughed in the distance.

“ _Told you so, sugarplum: behold, the splendor of Riften!_ ”

“ _McCree, I’m too tired to be an honest critic, but your city looks pretty lame from here…_ ”

“ _And you haven’t seen the skeevers and the nobles yet, you’ll adore it!_ ”

Genji grabbed the tree at his side, and his fingertips burned as they scraped the smooth bark. Mouth going dry, eyelids twitching, he stared at the two figures approaching – a tall man dressed in black, and a memory made flesh after years of nightmares and doubts.

Hanzo had changed since their last, tragical encounter. His hair was shorter, his armor a collection of scratches and stitches; there was a deep line between his eyebrows, and he looked tired.

Still, he was still his brother, with the small bump on the bridge of his nose and the way his smile started at a corner of his mouth and stretched from there.

He was here, and Genji couldn’t move. Something roared in his chest, a creature of anger and vengeance and love, so much love it hurt – a desperate tangle he couldn’t undo, suffocating, painful.

Clenching his teeth, Genji looked at the couple approaching. The urge to act on his plan and to complete it was the only sensible thing going on in his mind, and such an instinct made him stand up without leaving the shelter of the shadows.

_Either I do something now, or I’ll let them pass and make it all even more complicated than it is._

It was difficult – shutting down the need to cry and scream and turn Zenyatta’s pure advice into action – but this dark elf, standing hidden in the embrace of the trees, was not some terrified teen. Genji reminded himself of who he was: a thief, a creature of the darkness. A Nightingale.

He closed his eyes and let McCree and Hanzo walk past him, still chattering in light-hearted tones. Hanzo was more talkative than he remembered, rebuking McCree without looking at him and gesturing to Riften.

Genji took a deep breath and cupped his hands in front of his mouth. The sweet chirping of a nightingale trembled from his lips, and McCree stopped frozen. Hood low on his head and mask pulled high to leave just his eyes uncovered, Genji didn’t have to wait for his companion’s reaction – McCree, with the supernatural aid of Nocturnal and the light fading around him, slid to his side, leaving Hanzo to rant about how the town smelled like damp things even from the distance. Only for a moment, and Genji was almost sure he was imagining it, McCree turned back and shot Hanzo an almost heart-broken look. Nothing Genji could indulge in, not right now that his heart slammed against his ribs and his breath came out in stifled little gasps. He acknowledged McCree with a nod and ignored him as he disappeared in the shadows.

A matter of seconds, and he knew he was alone. Just in time for Hanzo to reach the main gates.

“… so I’m stuck with you, and this place's worse than I imagined. How are you so fond of it?” he asked, and when no one answered, he turned around. The carefree expression crumbled from his face and his lips parted slowly. “McCree?”

Hanzo’s voice was barely a whisper, and yet it carried to Genji like a shout. Ignoring the two guards checking on him from the doors, Hanzo grabbed his bow and stepped out of the main street and into the shadows of the woods, black under the fiery sky.

Genji silenced his soul and mind. Whatever would come from this meeting, it needed to happen far from prying eyes, and Hanzo was coming his way already.

So he stood up, making himself fully visible, but nothing more than a thicker black figure in the dusk.

Hanzo’s shoulder relaxed and he grinned, following his brother’s swift steps.

“Playing the mysterious dark stranger again won’t work with me, McCree. I know you snore and you are weak for cheese, and this doesn’t help your masquerade. But if this is all to avoid walking through the main gates then lead the way, even if I…”

Genji clenched his fists under his cloak and the leather creaked. This Hanzo was what he remembered from their golden days before the Dark Brotherhood had turned him into a killing machine. The kid who’d traveled on his pony by his side, nagging him on how bad his posture was and going into every boring detail about the lands they visited with their family.

Riften was near and yet not in sight anymore, swallowed by the shadows of the peaks and covered by the trees. He stopped and stared at Hanzo, whose eyes glimmered red as he squinted.

“You… are not McCree”, he said.

His voice would’ve betrayed him, so Genji only shook his head. He crossed his arms and lay his trembling fingers on the knives strapped to his chest, and knew without realizing it that the chance to speak was gone.

Hanzo moved at the speed of lightning, and in the dim light it was as if he’d evoked an arrow in his bow.

No warning, just the dry _thwack_ of the bowstring. Genji jumped back and the knives came to life in his hand, and as the arrow pierced the air he flicked his arm. Sparkles exploded when steel hit steel, and his brother’s shot landed useless in a tree.

The shaft was still wiggling, Genji still recovering from one of the luckiest strikes of his life, when Hanzo growled again.

“Who are you?” he said, fishing for another arrow. Light was gone from his face, now sharper and harder than ever.

Genji closed his eyes for a second, dodging on his side when his senses warned in a whisper of a new incoming attack. In a whirl of black leather and black folds of fabric he stood behind another tree, the branches trembling with the impact of the shot.

_It’s him. It’s really him – all the version of Hanzo I’ve ever known._

He bit his lip and, in a voice muffled and twisted by the mask, he asked: “Where’s your brother, Hanzo Shimada?”

The small gasp from Hanzo rumbled in Genji’s head.

“If… you’re asking about him, you know the answer already”. A light tremble in his tone, a crack in his confidence.

“He’s dead. And you killed him”, and without thinking it twice, without considering how dangerous it could be, given his skills and the surprise factor, Genji emerged from the tree and threw a single knife at Hanzo.

But he _knew_ – of Hanzo’s reflexes, of his fighting instinct. Hanzo took a mere step to the side, and the knife sunk in the soft soil.

“Are you here to avenge him, then? You’re welcome, but this is a job for the Dark Brotherhood, and you’re not one of them”. He nocked another arrow and shot, but Genji was already gone in a cloud of darkness.

“I know how they told you your target had defied the Dread Father himself. A pickpocket who’d spat in Astrid’s face”, he whispered, confident the sound would carry all around under Nocturnal’s spell.

Hanzo panted and reloaded, firing blindly at nothing. Genji’s heart broke for him, but he could only approach him one step at a time, opening the wound of their past and letting the poison flow with the blood.

“She wanted to test you. Your loyalty – and such a good brother you were, Hanzo, not questioning your orders. Killing without even looking in your target’s eyes…”

“I won’t tolerate another word from you, stranger!”

The next arrow landed a few inches from Genji’s foot.

“But she paid for her betrayal, hasn’t she? Blinded by her power, self-assured of her position as the Voice, she turned the Night Mother’s will into a tool for her success. And this hubris was her demise – her plans to kill the Emperor turned into her very house’s fall”.

“She got what she deserved!”

“Oh, she did. You trusted her rulership and went smoothly for your contract. How did you feel, Hanzo, when Genji’s eyes looked into your own?”

Another shot, so near Genji’s face it rustled his hair; Hanzo snarled, his words slurring with pain and anger.

“Don’t you dare to speak his name!” Hanzo cried out in the shadows. His eyes, round with madness and grief, sparkled with tears.

“You killed him and turned your back on…”

“Kill me and end this pantomime!”

“And free you from the burden of your guilt? Too easy…”

Hanzo’s hands were shaking now, and the gesture he made to retrieve yet another arrow was so clumsy he missed.

“If you think I haven’t spent the last ten years hoping I could’ve switched places with my brother, then you’re sorely mistaken”.

Genji sighed and inhaled deeply.

That was it. His answer, wrought out of a broken man he had once called family – a man that was still there, buried under layers of suffering and regret. He lowered his hood and mask, shaking so much his hands almost slipped around the fabric. With his steady breathing the spell broke, and the sparse woods emerged into the twilight.

“Tell him, then”, he breathed out, raising his head to stare in Hanzo’s face.

The reveal washed over Hanzo like a tidal wave. His arms, still holding his bow, slowly dropped to his sides, his mouth fell open and his eyes widened in scarlet pools of bewilderment. A different brand of tension rippled through his muscles and he stood motionless, a mere step from his long lost brother.

“G-Genji?” A hushed wheeze that stumbled upon his tongue.

Blinking away tears, Genji nodded and cracked a shaky smile.

“It’s been a long time, brother. And I missed you a lot…”

“No, no, this can’t be. He’s dead, Genji’s dead – _I killed him_! Show me your true face, demon, and…”

“Hanzo! No, it’s me, you… never killed me. It was a close call, I have to admit it, but I’m Genji. Really”, and he held his hand out.

_Please, take it. I’m real, I’m alive and I’m your brother. Please, Hanzo, please, tell me this wasn’t in vain, I need to believe there’s still hope._

But Hanzo didn’t move.

“You’re lying”.

“I sent McCree to find you. You two came across a guy named Etienne, badly tortured by the Thalmor, and helped him escape, together with a bosmer, Malborn”.

“McCree told me the Guild wanted to meet me”.

“Inaccurate. _I_ wanted to meet you, and I don’t speak on the whole Thieves’ Guild behalf – I only wanted my brother back. I needed you to know that I have forgiven you and…”

Hanzo went pale so suddenly Genji panicked a bit in search for a deadly wound. But no, he was safe and sound, just as faded as the birch trees.

“You can’t be serious. I’ve done things no one should forgive, I’m a cursed man and I deserve no second chance. Why are you doing this to me? Can’t you just cut my throat and be done with it?”

Genji let go of any restraint and closed the gap between them. He took Hanzo’s hand in a swift grip, but his brother was too shocked to react.

“You’ve been lost for too long, and I’ve been angry and broken for the same time. I want my family back, Hanzo, but I was too scared to come and look for you”. He squeezed his fingers, and maybe it was his crazy hope nudging him, but he thought Hanzo reacted to his touch. Or maybe it was just his brother’s nerves playing him tricks.

“I don’t believe you”, he said, flat. He couldn’t have sounded less convincing in his cold façade if he’d tried: there were tears swelling in his eyes, his lips were trembling. Hanzo, Genji realized, was trying to convince himself that all of this wasn’t happening. He was withdrawing in his familiar, loathed and needed personal torture instead of facing a terrible and unexpected reality.

“And yet here I am. You don’t look like you plan to leave any time soon…”

“I could. I will”.

A wicked grin fought its way on Genji’s mouth.

“Out of Riften without the Guild’s blessing? You can try”.

Hanzo snatched his hand from his brother’s hand and bared his teeth. It was almost comforting to see him react, eventually.

“I’m sick of being treated as a prisoner!”

The remains of Genji’s pride died with the last rays of the day.

“Hanzo, I beg you, stay with me. Just… just enough to see if you can step over your past mistakes and make up for them. I need my brother back…”

They locked eyes, and time melted around them. They were children again, marveling at the majesty of Skyrim’s landscapes and shivering happily under their heavy cloaks as they rode at their parents’ side, surrounded by an escort and chests full of gifts for the foreign nobles.

They were trembling beneath a pile of corpses, riddled with flies and defiled by crows, their mother’s face so close to Hanzo’s her blood dripped on his cheek. And Hanzo was holding him, one hand on his mouth, the other gripping his own small one so hard it hurt – _quiet, little brother, or they’ll come for us too._

They were teens, hungry and restless like feral cats, scavenging a cold, hard land to find a place to be. Skilled and brash, until Hanzo had killed the right man and found his vocation. Always with an eye out for his little brother, providing him with anything to keep him fed and warm, even If Genji was not that much younger than him.

They were here, two men dancing on the edge of a precipice. Two brothers and nothing more – Genji knew that in front of him was the Dragonborn himself, but for him, he was just Hanzo.

And Hanzo closed his eyes, defeated by half a lifetime of guilt and self - punishment. Something loosened in his frame and he nodded. Only once, so faintly it might as well have been just a playful shadow.

Genji knew it was real, as real were the wet trails down his cheeks.

“Come, then. If you’re to fight, I want to be at your side”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Genyatta and some Thieves' Guild, at last. And the much feared/hoped for brotherly reunion. Also, my wifey Moira, who, in this universe, was kicked out of the College of Winterhold for being a necromancer. How rude.  
> Expect some angst in the next chapter, but nothing heavy or long-lasting. Remember how big a softie I am, right?  
> I will take some small liberties with the Dragonborn lore, but I guess you'll see more of this later on.
> 
> Thank you all for your enthusiastic response to the lengthy ramblings of a fangirl, and if you want come find me on [Tumblr](http://valpur.tumblr.com/).


	9. Nen

Hanzo was sure that the last month had been a long feverish dream. A hallucination, a nightmare, an illusion: the only real thing was his broken heart, no less than the aching in his bones after a long travel and the cold wind of the night.

With stoic resignation he had accepted the devastation at the Sanctuary as the symbol of a closed chapter of his life; he had little to mourn there, and only despair had brought him to the pine forest outside of Falkreath. They were dead and the Dark Brotherhood was not his place anymore.

He had equally come to terms with his death the moment the headsman had him bend over the block in Helgen. All lives came to an end, and dreadful and humiliating as it was, his ending was a part of the game of life.

Dragons had been harder to take in, and even after weeks of questions and discoveries and that title – Dragonborn – intertwined with his own name, he wasn’t completely convinced they were not some mass delusion.

But the man walking at his side, with horrendous scars devouring his face and eager red eyes, was the most absurd thing of them all.

Genji was _dead_. He’d killed him and left him gurgling blood in the mud years before. And yet Genji was here, slowly escorting him around the outskirts of a grey town on silent feet murmuring of his days with the Thieves’ Guild. A ghost with McCree’s same armor.

His heart squeezed in agony, and Hanzo staggered when the though slapped him across the face.

_Liar._

Bile burned up his throat and he stubbornly clenched his teeth in a silent snarl. The look he shot Genji was pure poison, and his brother didn’t miss it.

“You still think I’m trying to deceive you, aren’t you, Hanzo?”

“You’re a _thief_. Thieves are nothing but lies and tricks. You haven’t forgiven me, and this is a trap…”

Genji rolled his eyes and stopped with his arms spread open. He’d grown thicker than the scrawny youngling Hanzo remembered, but he had the tired expression of someone much older.

“And your brother. You don’t get to tell other people how to feel or how to deal with their past – _I have forgiven you_ , and soon you’ll believe me”. He ruffled his hair, a familiar gesture unchanged despite the tides of time, and cocked his head. “I’m taking you to the Ratway to meet the others, they are…”

“I had a taste of what kind of people they are, and it was enough”, Hanzo growled. It was easier to blow on the embers of his anger than to admit that his heart ached for something he’d never even possessed, maybe.

 _But it felt real. It felt_ good _, and I’m a fool for letting McCree trick me into thinking that he was worth… no, that_ I _was worth something more than scorn and contempt._

Genji took his arm and pulled him back. Hanzo retracted immediately, wrestling himself from his brother’s grip. This didn’t deter Genji from his reprimand, thick with badly concealed affection.

“I asked McCree to come find you, and he was smart enough not to betray me. He’s a friend, Hanzo, the best I’ve ever had, and he only did it because…”

“Do I look like someone who cares?” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nonsense, all of this – his brother alive, McCree knowing it and carefully avoiding to tell him despite all they’d been through (and Hanzo obsessively banned from his mind the feeling of scratchy beard and hot lips against his skin), Riften dozing off in the night.

“Yes”, Genji said softly, and Hanzo peeked from between his fingers to see him crack a crooked smile, sweeter than he could bear.

Hanzo had no reason to follow him, after all. As he hadn’t had any to follow McCree in the first place. He turned around, staring at the empty world behind him.

What was there, for him? Dragons and death, ash and smoke and nothing more.

He had nowhere to go, and impossible as it seemed, Genji’s offering was the only thing he could hang on to.

“You _care_ , Hanzo, and you’ve always cared so much it crushes your soul. But you’re not alone, and you can count on me for what’s about to come – if it’s true that you’re Dragonborn”, Genji added with a slight hesitation.

“I am”, Hanzo confessed, tired of his uptight armor.

“And I believe you. You may be many things, but you never lied to me. I still trust you, you know?”

This hurt more than McCree’s lies. It hurt so much Hanzo had to wrap his arms around his body, shaking from an unexpected pain, to keep his core from crumbling to pieces.

He fell silent, walking with Genji as if in a trance and refusing to look at anything but his boots.

_He trusts me. After everything I’ve done to him, after nearly killing him and running away in shame, he still trusts me and wants to forgive him. He’s deceiving himself and soon he’ll come to his senses, I’m sure._

He barely noticed when Genji took a step ahead of him and placed his hand on the mossy bricks of the city walls, and absent-mindedly took in the scratched symbol under his brother’s palm. Then something shifted under his feet, and he instinctively jumped back.

“Careful there, the passage is so well hidden I sometimes forget where it is, too”.

“A… passage?”

“One of the many”, Genji said, gently pushing Hanzo aside as a trapdoor clicked open in the gravel and grass at their feet. “We can’t always come and go from the main gates, you know? Come, it’s not far”.

And so Hanzo, still tied in a knot of anguish and bleeding hope, followed him.

_Unforgivable. Hopeless. A mistake. Why am I doing this? Why do I dare wish for something that’s gone a long time ago?_

But he walked in Genji’s trail down narrow tunnels infested with glowing mushrooms and the distant scratching of skeevers’ nails.

“We keep them clean as best as we can, but… well, we live in the Ratway, not the Butterflyway or the Kittenway”, Genji chuckled, and some of his old spry humor sparkled from under the black cowl.

Hanzo closed his eyes and stifled a gasp.

His little brother was still there, despite his scars and the nightmare he himself had tossed him into.

The air smelled stale, so damp Hanzo’s hair soon started to cling to his face. He nervously brushed it away, forced to put his whole trust in Genji’s lead.

“I have so many things to tell you, Hanzo! And I know you’ll probably disapprove me being in the Guild, but really, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me after our parents died”. Something cracked in his tone, and it echoed in Hanzo’s heart, too. So many years had passed, and the memory still stung.

The darkness faded to a pale golden glow far ahead, and Genji slowed his pace.

“They’re good people, all of them. Not honest folk, I’ll give you that, but they’re family, and…”

“A bunch of rogues probably works better than me in the role”, Hanzo muttered bitterly, and Genji stopped to face him.

“After I lost you – did I mention I know it was not your fault and I couldn’t hate you? No? Well, I’m doing it now – I was alone, and the Guild Master picked me up. He has a thing for lost causes, I think. I owe him my life and much more, but you…” He reached out and took Hanzo’s hand. This time, he didn’t recoil. “We are of the same blood, and I couldn’t be myself without you”.

“You’ve grown verbose and rhetoric”, Hanzo said flatly. Only by keeping his voice low and his eyes hard he could fight the surge of emotions in his chest.

“And you’re the same old asshole as ever”, but there was no anger in the insult. It was just Genji being Genji.

_I haven’t killed his spirit, then. Only ruined his body and his life._

It wasn’t comforting at all, if possible it made everything worse.

After a last walk under the low ceiling, they emerged in a vast hall. Round walls encircled a shallow pond, and the light of dozens of torches trembled on the dark waters. Hanzo momentarily shook off his anguish and blinked at the place. Wooden planks, crates and a long counter on a mostly empty platform, it looked pretty much like a shady tavern built in a very wrong place.

“… so you live in the sewers”, he said, and Genji shrugged.

“And you lived in a cave. One gets used to the dampness after a while – but see, Gabe’s here already, and I know he’ll want a word with you”.

The only exception to the emptiness of the hideout was indeed a Redguard sitting at a table, alone. Playing cards flicked between his fingers in a complicated game of solitary, but his eyes were fixed on Hanzo.

As they walked by the pond, Hanzo felt another, unpleasant feeling burn in his stomach.

Mistrust. Danger.

_What am I doing here?_

“So it is true, then. Genji’s brother not only is alive, but he’s no less than the fabled Dragonborn”. A rich voice caressed his ears, and Hanzo found himself attentive despite his distress. “Please, take a seat”. The chair in front of him scratched the floor when the man pushed it back with his foot.

“I’ll leave you to him, but I won’t be far. We have a lot to discuss and…” Genji looked down at Hanzo and smiled. “Well. I’m glad you’re here, brother…”

 _I wish I could say the same_ , Hanzo thought, but he held his tongue as he watched Genji retreat to a side room with a curt nod to the man at the table.

He didn’t like the idea of being alone with a stranger, and a probably dangerous one too, if his career had to be taken as an indication, but to his supreme shame, without Genji around his brain started to work more properly. He took a deep breath and his voice sounded like his own again when he approached the table.

“So they say”, he replied. He took the bow from his shoulder and lay it flat on his legs when he sat down in front of the Guild Master.

“Gabriel Reyes, by the way. Or just Gabe. A pleasure to meet you”.

“Oh, really? I thought I was a bit of a surprise”. Hanzo wrapped his fingers around the bow and his knuckles creaked.

Gabe leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his back.

“Indeed, but not of the bad kind. You know, there’s a lot more than theft to the Guild, and having the chance to help a hero is what…”

“I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine”, he lied. Suddenly, he realized that McCree was not going to join him for the rest of his delirious journey, and everything turned darker and even scarier than it already was. He lowered his gaze and stared at his clenched fists.

“Nevertheless, we’re determined to offer it to you anyway, not just as the Dragonborn, but as the only living brother of one of the Nightingales”.

To this, Hanzo looked up with his brow knitted, and Gabe didn’t wait for him to speak to explain with a condescending smile.

“Agents of Nocturnal, the Night Mistress patron to all thieves. The Lady of Luck”.

Hanzo closed his eyes as a bright smile flashed in his memory, surrounded by the downpour of an untimely late winter storm.

“I understand many things now”, he mumbled, but Gabe ignored him.

“Besides, it was only thanks to you that Etienne is home safe and sound. His hands will need time to heal properly, but hadn’t you been in Elenwen’s villa, McCree wouldn’t have been there either, and our favorite lockpicker would be long dead”.

“It’s not something I’m eager to discuss. How could you help me? I have the Greybeards on my side already, and even the Jarl of Whiterun seemed inclined to offer me a hand…”

A shadow passed on Gabe’s face, but he quickly masked it with a charming smile.

“I have no doubt Jarl Morrison will do his best to prove the world he’s standing on the right side. But I’m going off on a tangent… you’re searching for an old man named Esbern”.

“I suppose Etienne told you that”.

Gabe nodded. He collected the cards from his unfinished game and took to shuffle them with clever gestures.

“Some of our associates are particularly good at finding things. Or people”, and he stared at him intently. “I sent someone to do the dirty job on your behalf; if this Esbern truly resides under the Ratway, then we’ll find him in no time. Who is he, anyway?”

“No one you should concern yourself with”, Hanzo snapped, but Gabe didn’t flinch.

“I do, because this man is hunted by the Thalmor and probably lives under our kitchen”, and he stomped his foot twice on the planks. “Now I suppose you can see how this potentially puts my entire team in danger. On top of that, if the old man is crucial to stop the dragon attacks, it’s a good added value”.

Gabe neatly compacted the deck and closed his hands over it, then pushed himself to his feet.

He was taller than Hanzo, but with a grace that seemed uncanny for such a big man.

“For now, make yourself at home, Hanzo Shimada. There’s plenty of room for the Dragonborn here”. He bowed respectfully and walked away, leaving Hanzo with more doubts than when he’d walked in.

“Oh, one last thing”, Gabe said without turning around and only peeking from behind his shoulder. His eyes, black under the torches, were cold and serene. “I know what you did to Genji, and I know it wasn’t entirely your doing. But I swear on the shadows, hurt him once more and you’ll regret a lot of things”.

He left without any other form of greeting; his voice, even in the middle of a threat, hadn’t changed, smooth and elegant as always.

Now, though, Hanzo swallowed a block of ice.

_I don’t trust them. They don’t trust me. How can this end in anything but tragedy?_

Still, Reyes’ reasoning was on point: Esbern was probably in Riften and, as such, a danger to the Guild.

When the makeshift tavern fell silent again, with even the last of the Guild Master’s footsteps gone in the distance, Hanzo shivered and took his head in his hands.

Creepy as it was, the feeling of not being here but only walking in a weird dream had been comforting in its own wrong way. Now reality was clashing upon him – too big for his hands to grasp, to heavy for his shoulders to bear.

Everything had almost been fun after Helgen. An adventure like he’d never lived before, but now even the best memories – a deep laughter, a quick, spontaneous embrace – tasted like dirt in his mouth.

Hanzo sighed, but his ears suddenly flicked back when a familiar sound reached him.

On the wave of his misery, someone was approaching, and he knew who he was: the right person to make the situation even worse.

“Hey, Han…”

Hanzo didn’t turn around; he let his hands fall in his lap and pushed the chair back. On his feet, he felt more than hearing McCree coming closer.

“We have nothing to discuss”, he deadpanned, picking his belongings up and walking from the table.

“No, wait, I need to talk to you”. Hanzo felt the movement behind him and brusquely moved to the side to avoid McCree’s hand going for his wrist. He stared at him with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, and his will almost broke.

McCree looked desperate. Hanzo had never seen him like that, his charming attitude gone in favor of a painfully open and vulnerable one, with his dark eyes so intense they almost scratched Hanzo’s soul.

“Don’t touch me”, he hissed. McCree dropped his hand and sighed, and the step back he took required him lots of willpower, considering how exhausted was the gesture.

“Right, ‘m sorry. Hanzo, I need you to know why I didn’t tell you anything ‘bout Genji, it was…”

“You knew it! You knew it all along!” he snapped, throwing his bow on the floor and pointing an accusing finger to McCree. “What did you expect of me? Gratitude?”

“No, never that!” McCree opened his arms and shook his head. “But wouldn’t you hear the whole story?”

Hanzo pressed his lips in frustration. A storm was roaring in his heart, everything felt raw and too fragile for words after seeing Genji again, and his only armor was anger and spite. He wrapped himself in it and threw his head back in a sour laughter.

“If you think it could change anything…”

“I’m no fool, Dragonborn”, McCree said, low and serious. His broad shoulders sagged and the tenderness in his eyes was too much for Hanzo to bear, so he opted for staring at the wall behind him. “But I value the truth, and you deserve it”.

“Do it then, but make it quick”.

McCree ran his only hand over his face; his left sleeve was folded up to his biceps, and the asymmetry made him look slightly unbalanced.

“It was a silent pact between me and Genji. He’s a good friend to me, the brother I’ve never had, and…”

“Congratulations on the worst possible turn of phrase”. Hanzo crouched and retrieved his bow, turning his back on McCree.

“Oh, shit, here I go already… Hanzo, no, seriously, it’s important. Listen, make whatever you want from my words and then leave me for good, but… please, let me have this. Just this”.

He could’ve walked away without sparing McCree one last single gaze. It was the best thing to do, the arrow tore from the flesh in a single brutal movement.

Hanzo lingered a moment too long by the edge of the platform and McCree spoke again.

“He asked me to find you and bring you here, and I’d go further than fighting a dragon for him – we may not be born of the same womb, but we’re walkin’ the same path. Keep this in mind: I held my tongue because I care about your brother…”

“Good for you. Now, if you…”

“At first, at least. You were no one for me, just another mission, and I was sure there wasn’t going to be anything else ‘bout it. But then – quite early, if I’m to be completely honest – here you are, runnin’ under the flames with me, savin’ my sorry hide more often than I’m proud to admit, laughin’ with me…” Hanzo felt a thousand-year-old as he peeked at McCree from the fall of his hair. The thief was nervously rubbing his stump, eyes cast low on the floor and thick bangs obscuring his brow. “It became harder to keep the secret. I kinda wanted to tell you, and I considered doin’ it for good, but this would… you… would have hated me. I couldn’t stand it”.

The shroud of anger was so heavy it choked him, but it was working its magic. Hanzo faced McCree with cold calm and his lips twisted into a sneer.

“I find it rather hard to believe your words, thief. A moving story, you sounded like you really cared, but I’m not buying it”.

This time McCree ignored boundaries and, fast as a snake, he took Hanzo’s hand in his own.

“I do care! I care about you, about your safety, about your happiness and this crazy mess yer in, and I want to be with you, but…”

Hanzo snatched his hand away and frowned.

“You lied to me”, he said. It hurt more than he’d expected.

McCree opened his mouth to speak, gaze roaming on Hanzo’s face, incredulous and broken. Then his jaw hardened and a flick of his old mischief appeared in his eyes.

“I get it, yer shocked, darlin’, but I’m not the only one to blame, here”.

“Oh, really? Let me check, I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who kept a relevant detail about yourself from our r-relationship!”

“You could’ve told me of Genji, too, but you didn’t! So… oh. Oh no”, McCree went pale and slapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry, Hanzo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, please I…”

Anger took over and turned Hanzo to a block of ice. A bleeding, inwardly screeching block of frozen disappointment and suffering.

“No, you’ve been very clear”. This time he walked away for real, his footsteps heavy on the wooden planks.

“Hanzo, I beg you, don’t go, I fucked up but…”

“Don’t ever talk to me again”, he whispered, caustic, and something in his tone stopped McCree from any other attempt at an apology or a conversation. He stood there, alone in the dark, and Hanzo felt his eyes on his back as he left.

To where he didn’t know. Alone, again, and this time it was even worse, having savored for a second how it felt to have someone on his side.

He walked back to the tunnel Genji’d showed him and proceeded to get lost in the labyrinth under Riften.

_I have nowhere to go. Now more than ever._

His eyes were dry, but his heart cried in agony as he disappeared into the darkness.

 

He wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, his mind refusing to acknowledge his body’s cries for rest after the long trip and the overload of emotions, his only companion the small magic light on his shoulder.

The Ratway was disgusting. Damp and foul-smelling, it offered some random encounters with skeevers and blabbering outcasts rejected by society. Hanzo kept away from any form of life he ran into: killing now would’ve only awakened his self-loathing. He really didn’t need it on top of everything else.

The sting of McCree’s lies burned deep. Genji’s appearance felt more like a broken bone – the pain of an old fracture one’d gotten used to suddenly set back in place to heal properly, it hurt horribly but it had a purpose – but McCree’s betrayal was just too cruel and gratuitous to live with it.

_I trusted him._

His mind quickly corrected him.

 _I_ liked _him._

He kicked a pebble and sent it to roll down a narrow, damp staircase. The rhythmic noise rumbled in the darkness.

“What are you doing here?”

Hanzo gasped loudly and instinctively grabbed his bow. The shadows around him had talked, and it took him a moment to recognize Genji’s voice after so many years of silence.

“What… this is none of your business”, he spat out, heart racing in his chest.

Genji emerged from the darkness; his face looked so young in the light of Hanzo’s spell, his eyes uncertain as if he was trying to decide whether Hanzo was friend or foe.

“Are you alright? Gabe was looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. It’s easy to get lost in the Ratway, you know?”

“That was the plan, yes…”

He couldn’t bear to look directly at Genji, but his presence seeped through his wits nonetheless. Hopeful and insecure, the exact opposite of Hanzo’s stubborn despair.

“If… you want to go I can escort you out. I don’t want to keep you against your will”, Genji said, and he didn’t sound very convincing.

“What does your boss want with me?” he asked, ignoring the offering.

“Oh, yes. They found your guy, and maybe you’ll want to talk to him”. A nervous chuckle trembled in Genji’s throat. “It wasn’t easy to lure him out of his place”.

Responsibility fell heavy on Hanzo’s shoulders, making him dizzy and almost nauseated. There was no escaping his fate as the Dragonborn, but he dreaded any other step he had to take.

“I guess there’s no avoiding this. Thank you for your cooperation, I suppose…”

Genji made a vague movement, as if he wanted to put his arm on Hanzo’s shoulders, but stopped mid-gesture in an awkward pose.

Hanzo wished he’d done it for real, starved for any form of affection, but his armor was quick to kick the thought away.

“Let’s go, Sombra is telling everyone her story. That Esbern tried to fight her, you know? We should have sent Jesse with her to… er… no, nevermind”.

Hanzo stiffened at the mention of McCree. So Genji knew already.

_Of course. If they really are friends like McCree said, they would talk._

In silence, he ran the back of his hand on his mouth, as if to cleanse it from any residual of McCree’s kiss, and immediately regretted it.

_Why can’t things be different?_

He followed Genji back to the base, every breath heavy with the taste of lost things.

 

The Thalmor dossier was correct. Esbern, the archivist of the Blade, was an old Nord closer to his eighties than to his seventies, with a wrinkled face and no hair on a spotted skull, and long, frail hands that looked like bird bones and dry parchment. Still, as Hanzo looked at him attentively, grateful for the diversion from his personal misery, he couldn’t think of him as old, only as dangerously wise.

“Who is he, then? I didn’t leave the safety of my shelter to be presented with conjectures and bitten off truths!”

Esbern was as tall as Gabe, who stood behind him, leaning against the counter and hiding a grin in his beard. The old man’s eyes, gray and faded, were so piercing no one seemed inclined to meet them – surely not Genji, who stood protectively at Hanzo’s side, nor the young Breton sitting on the counter next to Gabe. She thoroughly inspected her thick black braid, letting her feet dangle against the wood.

“I told you, dude, the Dragonborn’s here and he needed to meet you. Try not to attack him too – Gabe, I need a raise if I’m to do this kind of jobs, this man unleashed two Atronachs at me, and the crone his neighbor tried to bite me!”

“Later, Sombra. Hanzo, it’s your turn now”. Gabe made an encouraging gesture.

McCree was nowhere to be seen, and Hanzo couldn’t but search for him, despite the pain this caused him.

_No, not now. Business first._

A deep breath, and his most professional mask fell over his face. He looked at Esbern and barely managed to control a shiver as the old man didn’t blink. Ever.

“It’s me. I’m the Dragonborn, and Delphine sent me to the Thalmor Embassy to find information about you”.

“Delphine? Is she alive?” The pale face brightened and a smile appeared on Esbern’s thin lips. He still had all his teeth. “Tell me more about her!”

Such an enthusiasm baffled Hanzo a bit, but he suspected there was more to Esbern’s interest than met the eye, so he obliged.

“She – uh – she thought the Thalmor were involved in the return of the dragons. The civil war was nearly over, with Ulfric captured and ready to be sentenced, and then that thing appeared and he escaped. How fortunate for those who thrive in war…”

“Yes, yes, this sounds very much like Delphine. But tell me about her: how is she?”

“Annoying”, Hanzo said, and he wouldn’t take it back. “Blonde, Breton I think, small and a very lame innkeeper. She talks and acts as if she expects to be obeyed, and…”

“I believe you”, Esbern said out of the blue. His eyes were completely focused on Hanzo’s like steel daggers, and he sounded sincere.

Hanzo frowned and shook his head.

“What? Of course you do, it’s the truth, why wouldn’t you…”

“I was forced out of my hiding spot”, he shot a very dirty look at Sombra, who slid a bit closer to Gabe, “and I had no reason to trust you. But you know Delphine indeed, and no one in their right mind would claim to be the Dragonborn on a whim”.

“Oh. So… this is it? You’re going – no, _we’re_ going back to Riverwood, I get the Horn from Delphine’s hands and we’re done?”

It sounded too good to be true, and Esbern’s wrinkles twitched when he nodded, a bit sadly.

“We will see to it, kid. But yes, we’re going to meet Delphine – I haven’t seen her in twenty years, and we have much to discuss. You, girl, pass me my bag”, he snapped his fingers and Sombra quickly obeyed, sliding from the counter and retrieving a leather backpack. It was so heavy she grunted and mostly dragged it on the floor; Gabe extended his arm to help her, but she shut him with a deadly stare and he arched his eyebrows and raised his hands.

Esbern took the backpack and slung it over his thin shoulders as if it was nothing and patted Sombra’s back – she was panting a bit – with the careless affection of a grandfather.

“Good. What time is it? Ah, it doesn’t really matter, I suppose, and we’re in the sewers, no one knows”.

“Almost midnight”, Genji said at once, and when Hanzo stared at him in surprise he shrugged. “What? I know how to measure the time in the darkness, otherwise I’d always be late…”

“No, it’s just… it’s rather impressive”. To this, Genji beamed and lowered his face, but his cheeks still rounded with his smile.

“Midnight… perfect, we’re leaving now. We’ll need horses and food, something to drink and some supplies. Just the two of us, Dragonborn”, and he waved his fingers under Hanzo’s nose, “if we want to make it quick. Bandits don’t worry me, but the way is long, and…”

His hurried words slurred in Hanzo’s ears. He took in the absurdity of the whole situation – he, a former assassin and something akin to a legend, surrounded by a band of thieves, his long-lost brother included, was to leave in the company of an old stranger right now. In the dead of night.

It didn’t exactly make sense, but a fresh and strong hand clasped on his shoulder with surprising strength.

“Let’s move, young man. We’ll discuss all of your questions on the way, but I want to be off as soon as possible”.

“You mean… _now_? Immediately?” Hanzo gaped, and Esbern shoved him forward.

“You have your weapons, and if you need to take a pee there’s plenty of woods outside to grant you your privacy”.

Gabe nodded and jumped from the counter.

“You’ll find horses ready at the stables. Tell the guy there Reyes is sending you and he’ll give you everything you need for your trip”.

“Marvelous”. Esbern adjusted the bag on his shoulders and pushed Hanzo in front of him. “Come on now”.

It was happening too fast for his tastes. Hanzo, baffled, looked at the Guild in search of an unlikely ally, but Gabe’s encouraging smirk didn’t help much.

Genji, his eyes open wide and jumping from the Guild’s Master to his brother, seemed unable to form a coherent phrase and on the verge of panic.

Hanzo couldn’t blame him: he’d done so much to have him back, and their time together was done already.

McCree was not there. Of course he wasn’t, after their heated words he probably understood how wounded Hanzo was, and was wise enough to stay out of the way.

But Hanzo still scanned the shadows in search of his tall frame.

Gone.

Out of mere willfulness, he averted his eyes from the darkness and turned his back to the Ragged Flagon, walking at a good pace to keep up with Esbern’s pace.

“Good luck, Dragonborn!” Gabe called from behind them. “You’ll need it”.

 

 

Hanzo had expected Esbern to entertain some sort of conversation on their trip, but the guy looked more focused on the road, and only hummed to himself every now and then. The horses were good – and, apparently, not stolen for a change – and the supplies plentiful, the sky above them sparkled with green and red Northern lights and everything seemed reasonably quiet. Except, Hanzo couldn’t relax at all. His mind was clogged with thoughts, and he hated how most of them revolved around his utter inability at social interactions.

There was a world of unsaid things, all of them rather relevant, between him and Genji, and he barely had the time to face him at all. And McCree was haunting him to the point Hanzo was crushing the reins in his hands.

Having someone to talk to could have helped.

“So”, Esbern said at once, startling him from his thoughts. “Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years. I thought she'd have realized it's hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago..."

Hanzo blinked and cocked his head. His neck, as well as his back and every single muscle in his body, ached, but he still managed to ignore the problem.

“I beg you pardon?”

“The Thalmors. She’s obsessed with them, but in truth, I can’t blame her”. The old man shook his head. “A plague to this unfortunate land… but this fight is pointless as it is, since the end is upon us”.

Hanzo snorted with mirthless laughter.

“I like your optimism”.

“I’m only realistic, boy. Skyrim's days are almost over, and those of the world as we know it too…”

Esbern sounded serious, and Hanzo looked at him.

“Wait – are you talking about the literal end of everything? This is not some intricate political reasoning”.

“Can’t you see? No, of course you can’t, what more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what's going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell them. They wouldn't listen. Fools. It's all come true... all I could do was watch our doom approach..."

Alduin. The name meant something, but Hanzo couldn’t tell if it was some long lost knowledge or the dragon’s soul speaking to him. In any case, it was ominous to say the least.

“Alduin, you said? Another dragon. The… one who’s raising the others”.

The one I saw in Helgen, but he couldn’t tell where that realization came from.

“Yes, yes, and since you claim to be Dragonborn…”

“I am. Not that I had a say on the matter”, he said bitterly. Esbern ignored him.

“Whatever. The end has been foretold by the Scrolls, but you… sure, I need more proof, but if anyone can…”

A soft thumping of hooves caught Hanzo’s attention. He pulled the reins and his horse, a sturdy chestnut beast who’d tried to lick his face the moment they met, reared and huffed.

“Someone’s following us”, he whispered, tension instantly building up in his body. He took his bow, but then someone called from the darkness.

“Hanzo! Wait!”

“Genji?”

A black horse approached in a heavy gallop, and Hanzo stared in amazement. His brother halted his ride with such emphasis the beast glided on the soft ground.

“In the name of… Genji, what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you go alone”, he said, pushing his hood back and revealing a flushed face and bright smile. He wasn’t wearing the Nightingale armor, but a simpler leather one, sporting the signs of many battles. “Gabe’s fine with this”.

“I don’t care about your boss! You… I don’t get it, it’s not your job!”

“No, but you’re my brother, and we haven’t had enough time to talk yet. And not to diminish your skills, or yours, master Esbern”, he added with a bow of his head, “but you might need some help on your way”. Genji opened his cloak to reveal not just the throwing knives Hanzo had already seen in action, but a slender long sword hanging from his belt.

“Your presence is unnecessary, young man, but I understand why you're here”, Esbern said, kicking his horse’s sides and trotting on.

But Hanzo didn’t move. He openly stared at his brother and searched for words, in vain.

Genji smiled, and the scars on his face crinkled.

“I’ll leave if you want me to, Hanzo, but we have something to discuss. A lot of things, I’d say, and…”

“You haven’t really forgiven me, have you?”

“ _Again_? Yes, I have, and since you’re so obtuse and refuse to accept it, I deserve a chance to prove it. Do you like it better this way?”

“It can’t be, after what I did… but for real? You want to come with me?”

“I thought it was rather clear, but yes, for real”.

Hanzo sighed and his horse shuffled under him.

“Then I can’t stop you unless Esbern thinks that…”

But the old man was far down the road already, and Hanzo took his relative lack of interest like a silent assent.

“That counts as a yes”, Genji said, reading his thoughts once more. He grinned and spurred his horse on, and Hanzo followed him, not entirely displeased with the turning of the events.

Esbern spent the following days paying little attention to Genji, too focused on his personal ramblings and on Hanzo’s tales. He had him repeat his escape from Helgen over and over until nothing seemed to make sense anymore and memories tasted like dreams, and moving on to Whiterun and the Greybeards only made the archivist more eager for details.

“No, Esbern, I told you already – I don’t remember how many rows of fangs that dragon had! I was a tiny bit busy avoiding his claws and fireballs”, he said tired, stretching on his saddle as they approached Riverwood after exhausting days on the road. Genji hadn’t talked much during the trip, but Hanzo had surprised him casting cautious looks in his direction, and now, like every other time the story of the Dragonborn came back to life, he was listening with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. Just like he did when they were kids, and if it made Hanzo’s guilt heavier than ever, it was also oddly heartwarming.

“And then McCree threw his dagger at the dragon, right? To distract it. And it worked!” Genji said enthusiastically, and Hanzo nodded. The less he thought about McCree the better, but that specific memory insisted on bringing a smile to his lips.

“He did. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, mind you, but I can’t trust him anymore, and…”

“Attention to details is vital when dragons are involved”, Esbern scolded him. “You can’t use the same combination of moves to take down a blood dragon or an ancient one, that would be like using a hammer to mix your soup – well, yes, it might work in the end, but that’s not the point!”

“Stick them with something sharp sounds like a sensible strategy in my opinion”, Genji said under his breath, and Hanzo stifled a giggle.

“What?” Esbern asked, pursing his lips and turning to the two Shimadas. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing”, Hanzo said, and he glared at an extremely amused (and bad at hiding it) Genji.

It felt good. For a moment, every fear about monsters in the skies, every wound to his trust faded under an overwhelming wave of affection, something Hanzo was quick to stifle and push back to the bottom of his soul.

_I don’t deserve this. I must focus on my task – mine and mine alone, no one can really help me in this._

Arriving at Riverwood worsened this self-inflicted punishment. Everything, from the pale lavender bushes around the gates of the Sleeping Inn to the squeaking sign hanging above the door, brought him back to that day, weeks before, when McCree had walked those same steps at his side. Only his presence had made Delphine tolerable, and only his heart had carried Hanzo out of the bog of schemes and tricks at Elenwen’s party.

In silence, Hanzo opened the door for Esbern and let him in. Genji stood behind him and touched his shoulder.

“Hey”, he said in a low voice.

Hanzo looked sideways at him.

“Yes?”

“I remember that face. Something’s troubling you, and it’s not this Dragonborn thing alone. I know what it is, and…”

“Good, then you don’t need me to tell you anything”, Hanzo snapped, rolling his shoulder to remove Genji’s fingers.

“… another time, then”, the Nightingale replied, unimpressed by such cold reply. “Now let’s go, shall we?”

Hanzo was almost happy to enter the inn; it gave him something more urgent to think of, but it still bugged him to know that Genji and McCree had probably talked about him in his absence.

They followed Esbern inside and found he’d already met Delphine. The two Blades were holding wrists in the middle of the hall, and on the woman’s face shone a smile that made her look twenty years younger.

“… been too long, old friend, too long”, she said in a solemn voice. When she looked up behind Esbern’s shoulders, though, her eyes hardened at the sight of Hanzo. “Ah, here you are. We’ve got to talk and… wait, who’s that one?”

“My brother”, Hanzo said before the outrage for her spiteful voice could kick in. Genji bowed with the elegance of a dancer and his smile didn’t falter.

“Oh, great, another little friend”.

“Same as last time, Delphine: he’s with me, so get over it quickly”. Hanzo had no time or patience for her reprimands, but his stern attitude seemed to work. Delphine sighed and took them all to the cellar. Hanzo refused to walk behind her and stood at her side instead. A petty revenge.

Once down the stairs, Hanzo faced Delphine before she could speak again.

“Business first. Here’s Esbern, safe and sound”, and he pointed at the old man, “so now you owe me something”. He extended his hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers.

Delphine snarled and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re impossible, Dragonborn, you know it?”

“No, I’m reasonable. The Horn, please”.

She seemed to consider the issue – she had something Hanzo valued, a good instrument to keep him on her leash. Eventually, though, she snorted and opened a chest, pulling out a package wrapped in dirty old leather.

“Have it your way, then”. She handed it to Hanzo, who called Genji with a gesture of his head.

“Check if it’s the original one”, he said. It was a bluff, probably – his brother was a thief and everything, but what if he couldn’t determine whether the Horn was a copy? But Genji rolled with it and extended a hand.

The moment he touched the horn he gasped and jumped back. Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat, but when their eyes met he shook his head to reassure him.

“No, I’m… I’m fine”. He looked at Delphine, serious. “It’s the real thing. See for yourself, brother”.

When Hanzo took the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller he understood. His fingers prickled, and the same sensation he’d felt when he’d absorbed the dragon’s soul crackled in his bones.

“Thank you”, he said absent-mindedly, without turning to Delphine. The horn was still covered and he suddenly didn’t really feel like inspecting it any closer.

Esbern was speaking again – of him, since the word Dragonborn was thrown around fairly often – but Hanzo and Genji weren’t really listening.

 _What are we?_ He thought, and his brother seemed to share his concern.

A loud thud startled them both. Esbern had taken the bag off his shoulders, and was now rummaging through it, scattering books all around.

“This changes everything, of course, and I… but where is it, I was so sure…”

“Esbern, what…”

“Hush, girl, I have it… ah, here it is! Come, let me show you”. He slammed a dark red book on the table and called them all with his gnarled hand. He shuffled through the pages and stopped to tap at the elaborate depiction of a cave near a river.

“Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach during their conquest of Skyrim”.

“Cool. I think?” Genji said, stooping to take a closer look. Delphine took him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back; Hanzo was this close to yell at her.

“It is. This is where they built Alduin’s Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore”.

“And you have a copy of the inscriptions, I guess?” Hanzo asked, but Esbern shook his head.

“No, unfortunately I haven’t. But we…”

“Esbern, what are you getting at?” Even Delphine sound perplexed, and for once Hanzo shared the sentiment.

“You… you mean you don’t know what I’m…” He sounded shocked and disappointed, but Delphine didn’t let the hurt look in Esber’s pale eyes deceive her.

“Why is the wall so important? If I don’t know it, surely the Dragonborn doesn’t either – do you?”

“No clue”, he confessed without feeling particularly bad about it. Apparently, Esbern was the only one who knew what was going on, and he might as well be the ranting of an old mind.

“Oh my, what’s with these new generations… Alduin’s Wall is where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. I found it after centuries of abandonment, and we’re to go there”.

“And this wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?” Hanzo asked. It sounded like fairytales and madness, but it was also the only path available at the moment.

“Yes, I mean, I hope so. No guarantees”, Esbern allowed. “The place’s near Karthspire”.

“Great. Forsworn territory”, Delphine grunted, cracking her knuckles. “Let’s hope we won’t have to fight our way in”.

“Wait, are you coming too?” He hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but Hanzo spoke his mind before he could check on his words. Delphine took it well, because she smirked.

“Of course I will. You all need a responsible adult around. Stay for the night – be my guests – and at dawn, we’re leaving to Karthspire”.

 

 

Once more, Hanzo had a hard time sleeping. One hour before sunrise he was sitting at the counter in the deserted Sleeping Giant Inn; in front of him an open bottle of mead and a golden coin in payment.

“You’ve always been the first to be ready before a journey”, Genji said in a sleepy voice from the door of the room they were supposed to share. Hanzo chugged the last of his mead and shrugged.

“And you used to be painfully late. The Guild did you good in this regard”.

“Gabe would have me clean half the Ratway anytime I was late, I had to learn. It was a matter of survival”, he yawned. He grabbed a stool and sat at Hanzo’s side. “Remember how mother used to say we were the most Shimada people she’d ever met?”

Hanzo chuckled. He remembered her, a tall elven lady with the longest, most gorgeous hair he’d ever seen and uncannily piercing purple eyes. He tried to ban the last image of his mother he had – jaw broken, ribs crushed and blood falling from her mouth – and focused on the woman she had used to be. Noble, ruthless, fiercely protective of her cubs.

“That’s because we looked so much like our father…”

“No, she said it was because we were – and I quote her – ‘stubborn as donkeys and…’”

“… ‘and twice as strong’, yes, I know”, he said with a sad smile. “I still miss them, sometimes”.

It was a confession he’d never made even to himself, but it felt right, so he didn’t take it back.

“Same. But what I meant is that I want to know what’s troubling you. Not the whole Alduin’s business, but McCree”.

Hanzo’s hand twitched and he dropped the bottle.

“What?”

“You have a crush on him”.

“Who said that? I have no crush on anyone, how dare you…”

“Brother, keep your voice low or you’ll wake Delphine before it’s due time. I bet she’s not one of those people who gets up from bed singing – but look at you, you’re blushing and…”

“He’s a liar and a traitor, and this is all!” he snapped, banging his fist on the counter. Genji, unimpressed, leaned forward.

“What I know for sure is that _he_ has a crush on you, and the way you left broke his heart…”

“Good, that’s what he deserves. He played games with me, and I don’t like being made a fool of”.

“He only did as I asked, Hanzo. He was being a good friend and keeping a promise: it has nothing to do with you”.

Hanzo stood up so fast his stool fell to the floor. He didn’t pick it up.

“You come back from the dead after ten years only to give me relationship advice?” he hissed. Shame and anger were twisting in his guts, and underneath it all was the burning humiliation of knowing that Genji was right.

“You look like you might need some, yes. If you want to be angry at someone, McCree is the worst person to serve as a scapegoat”.

Genji’s brutal kindness stung, and Hanzo grabbed the counter.

“I spend my life hating myself, allow me to be justly offended with someone else for once! He… lied to me”, he insisted, but with less force, this time.

_And I miss him already._

He closed his eyes and regretted it when the sensation of their only kiss returned to torment him.

“As you wish, but since I’ve forgiven you – this is getting ridiculous, you know? I’ve repeated it twice a day in the last week and you still won’t believe me – I think it would be nice to feel something positive”. A door slammed in the distance, and Genji slid from his stool.

Soon Delphine, in her full gear and, predictably enough, a bad mood, joined them, and Esbern immediately after.

“What are you two doing here so early?” she asked, her voice still husky.

Genji patted Hanzo’s back and grinned from ear to ear.

“We’re early birds, aren’t we, brother? Hanzo was ready to go, and we were discussing our strategies. Tell them”.

“Er – yes? We were. And… I just have to retrieve my…” He pointed at the room behind him with his thumb, but Esbern cut him short. He was the only one who looked properly awake.

“Good, good, the earlier we leave the better. Karthspire is not too far, but the Nines know what we’ll find on our way there”. He bounced his backpack on his shoulder – Hanzo noticed he’d taken all his books with him – and strode to the door with the pace of a man half his age. “I’ll wait for you, but not for long”.

After a collective baffled stare, the three remaining members of the party took their bags and joined Esbern.

Hanzo, as they left Riverwood under a moonless dark blue sky, couldn’t shake Genji’s words from his mind.

_McCree has no crush on anyone, only on gold and profit. I’m no exception._

 

 

What awaited them at Karthspire, as Delphine had warned them, was a Forsworn camp. Only a couple of wild, ragged Bretons were roaming the dismal docks, and Hanzo took them down from the safety of the bushes above the cave.

“I could’ve taken care of them with my sword”, Delphine pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Hanzo as he took his arrows from the bodies.

“And risk a fight? My methods are less time-consuming and more refined”. He rolled the nearest corpse down the planks; it landed in the river with a loud splash and floated away.

“Excuse him, Delphine; he only wanted to show off”, Genji said light-heartedly. Hanzo glared at him, but this only made him grin some more.

“I’m not showing off!”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, brother, we love you like you are, don’t…”

“Shut up!”

“Stop behaving like spoiled teens and come here!” Esbern snapped from the dark entrance of the cave opening on the mountainside.

“He started it”, Hanzo pouted, pointing at Genji. When their eyes met, though, what he felt was not the expected nuisance of a bratty younger brother, but a bubble of affection that deprived his frown of any bitterness. Genji, too, blinked and smiled before jumping from the rock ledge he was perched on and landing at Esbern’s side without a sound.

“Can’t help it, I’m too cool for my brother. Are we getting in, then? Before more of those Forsworns spawn from the hills – not that I’d mind a fight, but better not risk it…”

“This is the first sensible thing I’ve ever heard a Shimada say”, Delphine grunted. She slid down to the cave’s entrance, but Genji prevented her.

“Allow me, madam – I’m an expert of traps and tricks”, he said, one hand on his chest and his head tilted to the side.

“… and this is the second one. Are you sure you’re not the Dragonborn? You seem more reasonable than…”

“Can we please move on? I don’t have all day”, Hanzo said. He marched heavily to the cave and shoved Genji forward. “If you’re done boasting, maybe you could make yourself useful…”

Genji opened the way, silent but still beaming. It was oddly contagious, and it almost distracted Hanzo from their mission. Only when Genji, moving at ease in the cold darkness, stopped dead and extended an arm to the side to halt the rest of the group too, he shivered with tension.

Squinting in the black he followed Genji’s gesture – there was light ahead, and a faint sound of footsteps on wood.

“Come with me”, Genji said, turning to whisper in Hanzo’s ear. “The others will wait here”.

It made sense, of course: they were trained in stealth, while Delphine wore leather and steel, and Esbern spoke in a too loud voice, probably to make up for his poor hearing. Hanzo nodded and slid his hand behind his shoulders, but Genji stopped him before he could take an arrow.

“My turn”, he said, serious, and Hanzo sighed. Why did everything felt like almost twenty years ago, when they were only kids with no troubles?

_Because our bond resisted my sins. Will I dare to nurture it?_

He didn’t say anything, only rolled his eyes and gestured Genji to go. Delphine and Esbern needed no explanation, they just waited in the corridor as the brothers slithered in the shadows.

Genji’s sword hissed out of the sheath and sparkled in the dancing flames of the torches. Now that he got a chance to take a better look, Hanzo saw that the blade was slender, slightly curved, different from the broadswords the Nords were so fond of.

One single Forsworn, half-naked and with a crude deer headpiece, was pacing what looked like a makeshift campsite: smelly pelts thrown on chipped planks, and only a few smoky torches hanging from the walls. He blinked and looked at his side to point the opening at the far corner of the room to Genji, but he was gone already. His heart jumped in his throat; Hanzo grabbed the rocks he was hiding behind and saw a black ghost nearly flow in the darkest shadows until the pacing Forsworn.

Such was the power of Nocturnal, he said to himself. Genji was one with the darkness, and the wild Breton didn’t even see his death come. The long sword flashed once before the smell of blood filled the cave.

But Genji didn’t stop. His victim was still gurgling at his feet when he gestured the group to wait as he scouted further on.

“You… daredevil little…” Hanzo hissed, concern stomping on his anger. He held his breath at a loud crashing sound until a spry laughter echoed through the tunnels.

“You all must see this!”

“I take there are no more enemies ahead”, Delphine said, unimpressed. She let Esbern walk past her and, as they passed by Hanzo, took the elf’s arm. “Come on, Dragonborn. Many things can be said of you Shimadas, and few are flattering, but not that you’re not resourceful”.

“It didn’t sound like a compliment”.

“It wasn’t”.

“That’s reassuring”. Hanzo doubted Delphine could look anything but sour, but the way her lips turned upward was almost a smile. He joined Esbern and followed him through the dismal campsite and down a narrow passage that opened into a canyon. Genji was standing on a rock ledge halfway down the walls, leaning against one of a set of three small pillars.

“You wouldn’t believe it – I poked these”, and he patted the pillar under his elbow, “they turned and that thing appeared”. He pointed at a stone bridge covered in moss that extended over the gap to another room.

“This is interesting”, Esbern said, pushing Hanzo aside and joining Genji with no apparent effort. He shooed the youngest Shimada with such an authority Genji couldn’t object and inspected the pillars. “See this symbol? It represents…”

“A heart?” Genji concluded for him. Hanzo climbed over the ledge and frowned.

“An apple?”

Esbern shot both an outraged stare and pressed his lips together.

“How on Tamriel the fabled Akaviri could inscribe a _heart_ or an _apple_ at the entrance of their most sacred temple? Of course it’s neither!”

Genji’s ears flopped.

“… but it looks like a heart. If you squint”.

“It’s the Akaviri symbol for ‘dragon’, you uncultured bit of overcooked potato! It means we’re on the right path!”

“Well at this point I was confident we were already, but it’s good to have some confirmation”, Hanzo said. Delphine was almost laughing again, or she was trying not to murder anyone in the party. “This way, I suppose?”

“Let me go first, I feel we won’t find anyone from here on – everything here looks old as balls and…”

“I won’t tolerate a child calling the Akaviri civilization ‘old as balls’!” Esbern squeaked, and Hanzo had to bite the tip of his tongue not to giggle.

“Sorry, master Esbern, I’ll never do it again while I check for more traps, alright?” Genji, blatantly unaffected by Esbern’s scolding, jumped on the bridge and called Hanzo with his hand. “Come with me, Dragonbrother, I’ll keep an eye out for you”.

“You mean the other way around”, Hanzo said, but followed Genji nonetheless. Together they emerged in a low, vast room with a tiled floor. Memories twisted in Hanzo’s brain and his heart clenched.

“This is a trap”, he said under his breath, and Genji tilted his head to him.

“It is, but how do you know?”

“McCree… he… we found something similar in Ustengrav. He probably saved me…”

That smile was branded into his soul already, even if now it hurt more than he could’ve thought. Genji placed his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, suddenly serious.

“Remember my words at the inn, brother. And don’t worry, I’m better than Jesse when it comes to this: watch and learn”. He crouched, leaving Hanzo prey of his regrets, and caressed the tiles, gently knocking on the first row in front of them. “Ah, interesting. The ones with the heart – er, the dragon are safe”. He sprung up and, after a deep breath, stepped heavily on the nearest tile with such an inscription.

Esbern gasped and Hanzo almost closed his eyes, but nothing happened. Genji, perfectly balanced on his left foot, smiled at them.

“Safe, see? And look”, he jumped to the next spot marked by the dragon and, again, nothing happened. “Follow me and we’re going to be fine. Miss, and you’ll catch fire”.

“Encouraging”, Delphine said, grim.

“A fair warning and nothing more. Hanzo?”

There was more to that half question than met the eye.

 _Will you trust me, brother?_ Genji was asking him, scarred face painfully open and innocent, full of hope.

He forced himself to snort with superiority and put up his usual arrogant face, but he barely blinked back tears.

“Let’s see how good you are, Sparrow...”

The nickname slipped from his tongue, the same Genji’d used since he was but a toddler. This seemed to seal some kind of promise between them, because Genji smiled some more and moved on the floor, leaving room for Hanzo to join him.

Together, jumping from tile to tile, they reached the opposite side of the room. Genji, the first to set foot on the safety of the rocks at the end of the trap, took Hanzo’s hands and pulled him forward.

“Thank you”, Hanzo said.

_And not just for this._

“Brothers must stick together”, Genji said, squeezing Hanzo’s hands and looking behind him. “See? They’re coming, too”.

And indeed, Delphine and Esbern were approaching, both nervous and a bit unsteady (Esbern in particular; Delphine had to stop him from stumbling a couple of times).

“I know you like the Akaviri a lot, Esbern, but they were unpleasant hosts…” Delphine muttered, helping Esbern out of the last of the floor.

“Mph. This was meant to discourage the unworthy and keep burglars away, it’s the least the could’ve done!” He walked over Hanzo, thanking Genji with a reluctant nod, and commanded them all to hurry and follow him.

His endless chattering about Akaviri architecture accompanied them for the last of the journey, and soon no one was really paying him any attention.

Hanzo, deep in thought and shuffling from his guilt and hope for Genji to bitterness and that other feeling he couldn’t quite identify yet for McCree, realized late that there was silence, now. A resonating, cold silence all around them. When he looked up from his boots he understood at once.

Awe and reverence had made Esbern speechless, and Genji and Delphine were gaping too, too intimidated to speak.

“Wow”, Genji whispered.

And, in its conciseness, the reaction was appropriate. Hanzo shivered with marvel at the colossal white face staring at them with empty eyes from the wall. It looked human in a twisted, uncanny way – too big and smooth, too indifferent and serene. Hanzo had never seen such a form of art, and he found himself unable to look at it directly.

“So that’s it? Alduin’s wall?” Delphine asked under her breath.

“No. It’s the entrance, though. Only the blood of the Dragonborn can open it”. Esbern turned to Hanzo and Genji. “One of you”.

“No, it’s me, remember? I’m the Dragonborn”, Hanzo said immediately. “What should I do? A blood sacrifice?”

Esbern pointed at an inscribed circle on the floor in front of the statue, and Hanzo, his mouth dry and his fingers shaking, walked to the spot. A labyrinth, a shallow canal running in spirals around a small receptacle carved in the stone.

Rather intuitive, he thought. He knelt down, always avoiding the white face’s stare, and pulled the dagger from his belt. Cutting his palm was a small thing after all, the burn nothing he couldn’t bear and the bloodloss negligible, but when he stared at the red droplets fall to the floor in the eerie light coming from nowhere in particular, he felt weak.

Nothing happened for the time of a breath, and then the world seemed to tremble.

“It worked”, Esbern said, full of excitement, but Hanzo wouldn’t look up. He waited, fist clenched to stop the flow, until everything went still again. It was Genji’s touch what recalled him from his status of near trance: when he looked up, Hanzo saw his brother’s eyes mirroring his own, big and scared.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s just a scratch”, he said, but his body still felt queasy with fear. He accepted Genji’s help and got to his feet, but they were both shaking.

“So… the stories were true”, Delphine breathed out.

“Shor’s bones, here it is! Alduin’s wall, so well preserved…”

Esbern’s ramblings faded from Hanzo’s ears. He looked up and saw it.

The Wall. Black and twice as tall as him, embracing a great round hall covered in centuries of dust. Figures emerged from the black rock, so many and so detailed it hurt his head to try and make them all out.

Worse even, the more he stared, the more a painful throbbing rang through his bones. He walked in Esbern’s trail, eyes only for Alduin’s Wall – man and women fighting, flames and devastation, and there, at the center of the relief, the cruel, sharp face of the World Eater itself.

He was in Helgen again. Eyes of fire devouring his core, sulfur and flames, fear, the unavoidable demise…

Delphine’s voice snatched him from his vision.

“Esbern, we need information, not a lecture on art history”, she said out loud.

“Ah, yes, yes – let’s see what we have here…”

But it was Genji who shook Hanzo and called him back to this plane of existence. He, too, was pale, his lips a faded gray.

“You felt it, right?”

“W-What…”

“Something from the wall. It’s speaking, calling, but I can’t understand it. You felt it too, Hanzo, I see it on your face”.

Hanzo blinked in astonishment. Of course he’d felt something, they were memories of his last meeting with Alduin.

“Yes. But why do you…”

“Dragonborn! Come here, this is of vital importance”, Esbern called him, and Hanzo stepped back from Genji.

_We’re brothers. Could it be that he, too, has a role to play in this fight?_

Esbern was talking about the ancient times when Alduin and his dragons had ruled over Skyrim. A war, a rebellion – Hanzo could almost hear the people carved in the stone screaming against their winged tyrants. How was it possible to prevail against such titans? But at the center of the wall Alduin was shown in his defeat, surrounded by figures in long robes, not so different from the Greybeards.

“You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him…”

“Wait, so this doesn’t show how they defeated him? Isn’t that why we’re here?” Delphine pressed on, tracing the sculptures with eager hands.

Hanzo ignored Esbern’s following lecture on how the Akaviri were fond of allegories and tried to touch the wall instead. The more his hand approached, the louder the clamor he felt in his head became; and maybe, had he placed his fingers on the stones…

Genji grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“That thing’s dangerous, Hanzo – are you stupid or what?” he hissed, seething with shock.

Hanzo couldn’t even get mad at him.

“… here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes – this is the Akaviri symbol for ‘shout’”. Esbern said, and openly turned to Hanzo. “I’m starting to see a pattern, Dragonborn, and… wait, are you ill?”

“The Wall is… intense. I’m sorry”.

“Ah, nevermind. No doubt your brother is less affected than you, it must be a buzzing while you hear screams. After all…”

“You mean they used a _Shout_ to defeat Alduin? You’re sure?” Delphine, pragmatic as usual, interrupted him; Esbern sighed and nodded.

“Yes, something rather specific to dragons, or Alduin himself. This is all we know, and…”

“You’ve ever heard of such a thing, Dragonborn?” Delphine asked, almost snarling. “Damn it, I can’t believe we’re to use a Shout for this, I don’t like it a bit…”

“No, I have… I don’t know what it is, but maybe the Greybeards?”

She grimaced and opened her mouth to spit out her distaste for the monks once more, but Esbern prevented her. His voice was surprisingly sweet, with no trace of is usual urgency.

“Maybe, yes. But this makes things rather clear: you’re the only one who can defeat Alduin – you and your brother share the same blood, but his dragon soul is dead, as if it sacrificed itself to protect him. Is it so, kid?”

Genji ogled and pointed at his chest with a trembling hand.

“What? I could’ve been the Dragonborn?”

“The past is past, and who knows, probably two of your kind weren’t supposed to coexist on this plane. But you can still feel it, can’t you?”

“…Y-Yes”, he whispered, and Hanzo started to shake.

It was as if the ground was opening at his feet to swallow him whole. The Wall was screaming and Alduin laughing at him, but his guilt was so heavy and nauseating it crushed him down and stripped him of everything.

He couldn’t look at Genji or Delphine – she was still speaking, questioning him in hastened tones, but it was just a distant vibration in the storm inside him.

He staggered back and a whine escaped his throat.

They were staring at him. Not just the three people in front of him, but the Tongues, the victims of Alduin’s cult, all the dead from his tyranny.

_You’re all mistaken. I’m nothing but an assassin, I’m not a hero, I can’t save you…_

Before he could realize it, he was running, his heart jumping in his chest, throat tight and eyes burning. He ran through the white mask’s mouth and down the stone bridge; he jumped over the dead Forsworn and emerged in the crude daylight, the wind snatching his hair from his bun. And then he ran again, up the street and over the hill, until his lungs ached and his legs gave way, and he fell on his knees under a dying tree.

Panting, wheezing, he punched the dry grass so hard his hands hurt, then he threw his head back and cried out to the cold skies. The shout of a desperate man, of the pathetic parody of a legend.

Taking his head in his hands, Hanzo doubled over and sobbed, but no tears fell from his lashes. Only a bitterness he couldn’t name, the last straw to turn him to ashes.

He was cold when the silence around him broke, maybe hours, or just moments after his escape. Sitting against the tree he stared at nothing, hands abandoned in his lap.

“Hanzo?”

Genji’s voice was little more than a breath, and Hanzo didn’t turn to him.

“You should leave me. I’m even more of a disgrace than I already thought”.

“I just… can I sit with you?”

“Better not, but I won’t stop you”.

And Genji did as he’d announced. He sat cross-legged in front of Hanzo, until not looking at him became impossible.

“How are you?” he asked softly, and Hanzo laughed with a hint of hysteria.

“Oh, I’m fine, except that I didn’t just try to kill you, but I destroyed the dragon inside you. And also I have to save the world. No big deal”.

His desperate sarcasm didn’t work, and Genji leaned forward to take his hands.

“The dragon saved me, and I don’t resent you for having been groomed and forced into actions you would never have done, had you had a chance to decide for yourself. It’ll probably sound rude, but I’m rather happy I’m not in your place right now…”

“How can you insist, Genji? What I did to you… is even worse than I… than…”

The grip on his hands was strong, so much it almost hurt, and Genji’s face hardened. He looked more mature now, and extremely determined. Dangerous.

“For the last time – I have forgiven you. This won’t change anything. We’re a family, and I won’t leave you alone on this journey”.

This time, Hanzo found no strength to fight the tears beading on his lashes.

“I can’t do it, Genji! I’m not enough for this, I’m just…”

“… a man, like those who defeated Alduin once already. And you’re not alone: I’ll always have your back, I swear it. And someone else is ready to give his life for you, weren’t you so stubborn to ignore what you both feel…”

McCree. Humiliated, wounded maybe beyond repair, and this too was all Hanzo’s fault.

He sniffed and buried his face in his arms.

“What have I done… I’m sorry, Genji, I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I’m… I missed you…”

“Here, brother”, Genji said, pulling him into an unsteady embrace that ended with them both sobbing on each other’s shoulder.

“We’re going to find a way out of this, you’ll see. I defeated death itself once, what’s a dragon compared to it?” Genji chuckled, still weeping.

“I shouldn’t let my little brother comfort me. That’s my job…” Hanzo sat back against the tree and wiped his face. His eyes throbbed, but his heart felt a bit lighter. Genji sat with his legs curled against his chest and shrugged.

“Focus on killing giant lizards and let me take care of you, just this time. You can do it”.

And so they stayed, in silence, contemplating the clouds running in the bright blue sky above them. Soon Hanzo would have to meet the Greybeards again and think of a strategy to win a war.

_I’m not alone. It still doesn’t feel real, but may it be so?_

Soon, but not yet. First, there was somebody else he needed to apologize to.

Delphine’s and Esbern’s steps approached up the hill and Hanzo took a deep breath.

_I’m not ready, but I’ll be. Eventually._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah angst happened. I suffered while writing it, because I can't stand my goofballs fighting and I just want them to be happy together - but WORRY NOT everything is going to be fine, and pretty soon, too.  
> On the other hand, bros being bros give me life, and I'm so very weak for ShiMama. 
> 
> As I said in the last chapter, I tweaked the canon a bit. The bit about Genji being dragon-sensitive is made up, but I think it works fine with how I imagine this story. And it adds some more angst because why not?
> 
> I'm a bit in a rough spot right now, and let me tell you, your feedbacks make my days way brighter, you're all great <3


	10. Men

“You’re sulking”.

“Leave me be, Sombra. I’m not in a mood for chatting”.

“You haven’t been for the last two weeks. Since your dragon friend left”.

McCree’s fingers burned as he strangled the tankard in his hand. Knuckles creaking, eyes cast low on the last of the mead and his voice flat, he tried his best to ignore Sombra, sitting on the counter at his side. She rolled a coin on the tip of her fingers and smirked.

“You’re moping”.

“I said _enough_ ”, he growled under his breath. Thinking of Hanzo made his head spin and his stomach churn for a mixture of good and horrible reasons. More of the latter, lately.

The mead tasted like burning honey on his tongue; he gulped and grimaced, shooting Sombra a look that was, in his plans, furious. The Breton’s reaction, though, suggested him he wasn’t being that effective.

“Come on, Jesse, you can talk to good old Sombra. What’s upsetting you so much? It was fun to have you around, but now…”

“What part of ‘not in the mood for chatting’ did you miss?” he grunted. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers under his eyebrows until colorful spots danced in the darkness. And in such darkness, Hanzo’s face came to haunt him – again.

McCree couldn’t sleep at night with the echo of his bitter words tormenting him. Liar, traitor, _don’t touch me_.

He was right. McCree knew he deserved all that outrage, but no matter how many hours he’d spent staring at the ceiling, punching his pillow and looking for a solution or a better way to handle the situation: he’d fucked up, and still couldn’t tell how he could’ve avoided it.

“Seriously, Sombra, I don’t want to…”

“Oh, that’s it!” she said. She slammed her hand on the counter and jumped down with a grin. “You’re _pining_! That’s the word I was looking for!”

McCree’s head jerked up and his trusted professional mask didn’t fall on his face quick enough to fool Sombra.

“No”, he said flatly, but she didn’t buy it. She threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his beard.

“Aw, come on, you can tell me everything, we’re friends!”

“You’d use it against me”, he said, gently – and unsuccessfully – pushing her away.

“Tell me, you miss his intense eyes? Or maybe it’s the plush lips? Or the general sexy tortured look?” She batted her lashes and made kissy noises. “Without going into further details about his buff arms or…”

McCree stood up from the stool and tried to smile back at her, but every one of her assumptions hit him in a soft part of his soul he had to guard better.

“Lookin’ for gossip, sugar? Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just troubled by the dragon problem. And I’m worried for Genji”, he added in an afterthought. This, at least, was true: Genji was the only person he could talk to without feeling guilty or stupid, and of course, he had decided to go with Hanzo.

_They’re brothers. They have to make up their quarrel, it makes sense._

But he couldn’t help but feel abandoned. A part of him secretly wished Genji could do something to smooth the edges of Hanzo’s outrage, and at the same time, he doubted he deserved such a kindness.

Sombra crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

“Always so ready to think the worst of me… I was really worried about you, you know?”

McCree playfully pinched her cheek and stuck his tongue out, even if it cost him all his determination to put up such a cheerful appearance.

“Aw, how cute of you – but why don’t you put that clever brain of yours to a good use and go check if Keerava is more inclined to pay her debt since our last visit?”

Sombra scrunched her nose.

“I hate doing the dirty work…”

“Won’t hurt you, tho”. He took her shoulder and turned her on her heels, directing her to the way out of the Ragged Flagon. “Off you go, girl”.

“And I hate you”.

“No you don’t”, he chuckled, and Sombra waved him hello behind her back. Once her dark braid disappeared in the tunnels, McCree took a shuddering breath and fell back on his stool.

His head was heavy, his heart twice as much.

_Ain’t askin’ for much, just a second chance. I had Hanzo in my life for the time of a dream, and I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve been, hadn’t I been such a dumbass…_

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but she’s right”. The deep, rich voice chuckled from the shadows at the far bottom of the Ragged Flagon. McCree gasped, and Gabe walked on the platform with a crooked smile and a cocked eyebrow. “You’re pining, kid”.

“I’m not – of course I’m not pining, I don’t… I…”

Gabe joined him and leaned back against the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He tilted his head to the side and looked at McCree with fatherly condescendence.

“Jesse, come on. This thing is eating you from the inside, and you clearly need someone to talk to. Maybe someone a bit more discreet than Sombra”, he added, shrugging.

McCree knew he was right. Hanzo’s words and look of wounded trust were his personal nightmare, and there was only so much a man could do to pretend he didn’t have feelings.

And Gabe indeed was the right person to confess this too.

“Alright, maybe I’m pinin'”, he conceded, hunching on his seat. “I hurt him by not tellin’ him of Genji, and now he hates me…”

“While you’re far from hating him. Quite the contrary, mh?”

McCree gaped and fumbled for a false, snarky reply. He couldn’t find it, and in the end he just took his head in his hand.

“I miss him”, he confessed in a hushed whisper. “I thought it was just a crush – he’s real handsome after all, and I have eyes to see. And a crush I could live with, but this… this is worse”.

“Not worse, just different”, Gabe ruffled McCree’s hair and leaned closer. “It’s not a bad thing at all”.

“How couldn’t it be? It’s pointless, and distracting, and look at me, I’m not who I used to be, what…”

“Falling in love is hard, painful and dangerous. And I challenge you to name me something good and important that isn’t these three things combined”.

A shocked denial – _I’m not in love!_ – flashed in McCree’s mind, but like a sparkle, it died before it could form into words. A lie suppressed before it could spoil something good and pure. McCree closed his mouth and reached out for the empty tankard, but Gabe took it before he could touch it.

“Soon Genji will be back, and you’ll have someone closer to the – er – source of your problem to speak to. I’m asking you a lot, Jesse, but try not to overthink it: sometimes we hurt those we love without meaning to, and I know you’re brave enough to apologize”. Gabe got up and for a second McCree saw a wave of sadness cross his face. He didn’t need to ask him what was up – Gabriel Reyes had sacrificed his life and love for him, and even if he never brought it up against him, McCree knew it.

Apologize, Gabe had said, and it sounded so simplistic McCree almost laughed the suggestion off. Saying “sorry” never solved anything, and Hanzo was far too offended to accept it.

Another week went by, with McCree living like a puppet and carrying on on mere spite and resignation. Then, on a crisp spring afternoon, he left the enclosure of the Ragged Flagon to patrol around Riften in search for unaffiliated smugglers.

It was a boring job, and it seldom offered anything but a chance to take his frustration out on some poor ignorant sod, so he was far from excited or nervous as he walked the worn-out steps leading to the many upper levels of the Ratway.

He was so deep in thought – self-loathing turning into sincere concern for Genji and Hanzo, regrets, doubts and the lot – when the hair on the back of his neck stood up for no apparent reason. He stopped on the last step, scanning the empty room in front of him for threats, but found none.

 _My mind’s playin’ me tricks_ , he thought, frowning, but as he set foot on the dirty floor in front of him, a soft sound came from the tunnel on the opposite side of the room.

Genji was the first to appear, framed by the light of a torch. His first reaction was the same as McCree’s – a jolt of tension, knees bending in a more balanced position, free hand going to his knives. But the moment he recognized his friend, his face relaxed and a giant smile split his face in two.

McCree exhaled sharply and shivered once, relief and shock twisting inside him. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, but a deep voice prevented him from saying anything.

“Why have we stopped? Is everything… ah”.

When McCree looked up Hanzo was standing there, at his brother’s side, cold and serious.

“Hey! We – er – we’re back! And everything is fine, tell him Hanzo, it was cool and… and…” Genji ran his hand through his hair until it stood up in spikes on his head. He blinked and elbowed his brother. “Come on, tell him!” he insisted, but Hanzo was petrified. McCree, too, couldn’t look away or school his face to something more dignified than his current expression of painful confusion and anxiety.

“Ah. Yes, I see”, Genji said again, abandoning his forced enthusiasm. “I have to go. You know, debrief with Gabe, get something to eat, pray none of you do anything stupid and so on. Excuse me”. With his head low and one last, grinning look at Hanzo, he crossed the room and disappeared behind McCree.

Until the door at the bottom of the stairs didn’t click shut, though, McCree didn’t dare to move.

Hanzo was back. Tired, his cheekbones sharper than McCree remembered and his eyes even bigger and more intense, he stood tall and stiff, with his hands balled into fists at his sides.

McCree searched the pit of his brain for some witty one-liner but only found the desperate will to cry and turn back time to erase his mistakes. He could only breathe sharply through his nose, with his whole body clenched in a grip of anguish.

When Hanzo moved, he tensed. His posture, the stubborn angle of his jaw and shoulders, the fire in his red eyes all marked some form of aggression, and McCree didn’t know what to do. He was not one to suffer violence without reacting, but after all, he deserved Hanzo’s rage and contempt.

He couldn’t look, so he lowered his head. There was no way someone with that look, lips pressed together and hair slipping down his back in a river of ink, could mean anything but…

The impact against his chest emptied his lungs of air and his head of ideas. Midway through a gasp he looked down and found Hanzo’s head tucked under his chin. His hair tickled him, but he would complain another time: now all he could do was marvel at the slow, strong pressure around his waist, where Hanzo wrapped his arms and squeezed steadily.

It was not what McCree had expected, and now he really didn’t know what to do with his hands. He could feel Hanzo breathing against his neck and his fists clenched on his back, shaking.

His hand moved as if in a dream. Breathless, with his heart grown so much it could have choked him, McCree caressed the back of Hanzo’s neck and held him close.

He remembered the feeling, he remembered it too well. Silk and fire through his fingers, the gentle brush of long lashes against his skin, the restrained strength of a powerful body choosing the way of tenderness. Tears swelled up in his eyes and he closed them, leaning his forehead on the top of Hanzo’s head.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered without trying to hide the quiver in his voice. Scared and vulnerable, he exposed all his weakness to Hanzo as a sacrifice on the altar of whatever he felt for him. Something he desperately wanted to rescue from his own faults.

“Shut up”, Hanzo said in a similar faltering tone, hugging him tighter.

And McCree obeyed, because he had nothing to say that mattered more than this contact he was sure he didn’t deserve. But Hanzo was here, shaking in his arms; McCree grasped the last of his courage to try his luck and he kissed Hanzo’s temple, something that elicited a silent sob from the other’s throat.

“I was too quick to judge you. I shouldn’t have”, Hanzo said after a while, his voice warm in the crook of McCree’s neck, his harm clutching the other’s back.

McCree chuckled, incredulous of the bubble of happiness floating in his chest.

“Wait, wait - was that an apology? Because it sounded a fuckin' lot like…”

“I said shut up”, Hanzo said, laughing under his breath. He backed away a little, allowing McCree a full vision of his flustered face. His eyes sparkled, and the sweetest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips. McCree sighed and caressed his jaw, drawing his thumb on the sharp crest of his cheekbone.

“Make me, Dragonborn”, he whispered back, cupping his face in his palm and leaning closer.

Hanzo brushed the tip of his nose against McCree’s. His words were soft in the minimal space between them.

“I can think of a way or two…”

For McCree, the time for talking was over. He held his breath and bowed over Hanzo, pressing their mouths together.

It was real, this time, not a diversion and a pretense that got him carried away. But the languid touch of tongue in his mouth, the pressure of Hanzo’s body, his hands roaming on his back were sensations he’d tasted once and only briefly, and such memory made the emotion of the moment even more intense. He swallowed a moan without knowing whether it came from his chest of Hanzo’s, happy to let the world disappear from his thoughts.

He was back. His beautiful Dragonborn, lonely and full of regrets, with a heart so big it could’ve swallowed the mountains. He was back and in his arms, his tongue gently exploring his mouth and sliding on his lower lip with unbearable sweetness. Strong and fragile, angry and starved for love - McCree couldn’t help it and opened his eyes just a bit, enough to carve into his memory the glimmer of tears on Hanzo’s lashes.

It was Hanzo who broke from the kiss with a tiny gasp, only to place a second, swift one on McCree’s lips. A signature, a promise.

“Shadows take me, I’m so sorry, Hanzo, I… I missed you”. They bumped brows together, and Hanzo smiled again.

“But now I’m here”.

“You’re not gonna leave me again, are you?”

Hanzo shook his head, sliding his hands up McCree’s torso and throwing his arms around his neck.

“We’re in this together, remember? You saved me from Helgen, and now I’m…”

“... yours”, he concluded for him, worsening the blush on the elf’s cheeks.

_Oh no, he’s even more adorable now, I can’t not kiss him…_

And he gladly gave in to the temptation, half lifting Hanzo up against him and moaning quietly at the surprised and enthusiastic reaction he elicited. Warmer, deeper, the kiss made his head spin and his blood run faster.

Here, in the squalor of the sewers under Riften, there was only the two of them, and war, dragons, and death had no place in their tight embrace.

Slowly, reluctant to let go of the other’s lips, they parted. McCree lingered there a moment longer, savoring the feeling of Hanzo’s skin warm and smooth against his palm, until a deep sigh shook the elf.

“D’you think we could forgive each other?”

“I already have”, Hanzo said, turning to kiss McCree’s hand. He took it and stepped back. “By the way, I missed you too”.

“Would you believe me if I promised you never to leave your side again?” McCree pulled him in his arms again, a brief contact that made him hunger for more; he managed to control himself and wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s waist, guiding him in the depths of the Ratway.

“I think I could”. Hanzo was nothing but clinging on his arm, something McCree found both delightful and curious - there was a new kind of insecurity in Hanzo’s behavior, and while he was moved by the trust the elf showed in allowing him to see such a weakness, he feared something bad had happened during the last journey.

“And I know you don’t need it - yer buff and strong and so skilled it’s unnerving - but I’ll be there to protect you anyway”.

Hanzo squeezed McCree’s arm so hard it tingled, but he said nothing. McCree slowed down to kiss the top of Hanzo’s head again, and his soft hair tickled his nose.

_Gabe was right. Hard, painful and dangerous - but shadows help me, it’s worth it._

He wanted to stop there and kiss him again, tell him it was going to be alright, that there was no challenge impossible for the two of them - they’d killed a dragon and escaped a Thalmor lair - but he felt it was not the time, now.

“Good, you know that I don’t need it”, Hanzo snorted, still half wrapped around McCree’s arm, “because that’s it. I don’t. But… but…” He looked up with his lip caught between his teeth and his usual stern expression.

“Don’t worry, sugarplum”, McCree said, his heart about to explode with tenderness, “I’ve got you. Ain’t gonna let go of you anytime soon, mh?”

And sure Hanzo didn’t, because they were almost in sight of the Ragged Flagon and he was still one with McCree’s hand.

“I hope Genji is already telling the whole story to your friends”, Hanzo grumbled. “I’d hate to do it in front of everyone…”

“Won’t have to, if you don’t feel like doin’ it. Will you… tell me, tho?” He hesitated, unsure of how such an intrusion would be met.

With a tired smile and a sweet, sad look, that was how it was met.

“I will, once we’re alone”.

Alone. That single word, with its side of mental images, made McCree dizzy for a second. Alone and in a safe place, no one to interrupt them, no one to hear them talk.

 _And breathe whisper moan_ beg…

He sharply breathed in, overwhelmed by a desire that made his knees weak and his head faint, and Hanzo moved aside just enough to stare at him.

“Jesse? Is everything alright?”

“Er - I… oh. Oh, yeah, and this ‘Jesse’ thing is pretty damn cute, so please always call me that”, he stuttered, heat blooming in several regions of his body. Hanzo rolled his eyes and let go of his arm with one less caress.

“Mph. Now you’re getting ridiculous…”

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic, and you made me a very happy man”.

“Come on, I’ve been on the road since the first lights of day. Repeat this for the last three weeks, add in a stressful, chatty old man, Delphine and her awful bad mood, and a rather exhausting brotherly reconciliation, and you’ll have a vague picture of how tired I am…”

The bit about Genji confirmed McCree hopeful suspicions, and he smiled to himself. Things around him were falling into place, and this made him feel better than he’d been for many, many years.

Hanzo regained his composure and put up is war face when they reached the door to the Flagon, but he still touched the back of McCree’s hand with his fingertips.

“Let’s do it. By Sithis, it’s weird to think that my best allies are thieves…”

“Not so weird if you consider that the hero in this fairytale used to be an assassin”, and he smoothed his hair back. Hanzo grinned and rubbed against McCree, much like a grumpy cat.

“Fair enough”. He squared his shoulders with a stubborn snort and pushed the door.

Everything went according to Hanzo’s predictions, and a good chunk of the Guild was gathered around the counter indeed. It was still early in the evening, and Vekel was cleaning a tankard as he listened attentively to the others chatting. Genji was at the center of the scene, waving his hands around and retelling his adventures with Hanzo with a great abundance of details.

Maybe too many, since Hanzo grumbled a couple of times.

“They were not twelve. They were _two_ , and a third one in the cave. I killed the first two Forsworn, you got the last, and that was it”.

“Why don’t you go cuddle with Jesse and let me finish?” Genji snapped, making Hanzo gasp in speechless outrage and McCree bite his lip not to laugh. Gabe, sitting next to Genji, arched his eyebrows and shot McCree a knowing look. And while he’d endured Genji’s teasing unflinching, McCree blushed at such a scrutiny and looked away.

During Genji’s one-man show, McCree felt the heat radiating from Hanzo’s body warm him, and even if they barely dared to look at each other, he knew that embarrassment could do nothing to stop what they felt.

“... and so Hanzo is the Dragonborn, and we already knew it, he’s the only one who can defeat the Big Bad Guy with Wings and Fangs and Fireballs, and to do so he has to scream in his face”. Genji finished, gesturing to Vekel for a refill of his glass. The barman was ready to oblige, pouring wine from a green bottle covered in dust. “Thanks, man. As I was saying, Hanzo screaming at you is quite a frightening sight, I don’t recommend it, but…”

“Alright, that’s enough”, Gabe stopped him with a pat on his back. “Vekel, it’s getting quite late, why don’t you go to rest?”

“Ah, Gabe, but it’s a mess here, I should…”

“We’re taking care of it. You deserve a break”.

The barman shrugged and turned around without bitterness, and once he left through one of the doors behind the counter, Gabe looked at Hanzo.

“So, what’s your next move?”

“You trust your barman so little?” he asked, frowning. “He heard most of the story, and trust me, Genji didn’t hold anything back, what do you have to tell me that can’t be shared with…”

Gabe blinked and slowly opened his mouth.

“Poor Vekel, he’s been sweating here since this morning, it is late! I care about the wellbeing of my coworkers, you know?”

McCree suffocated an outburst of laughter at Hanzo perplexed look.

_Maybe later I’ll tell you that Gabe was being sincere. He really wants us all to be at our best._

“I… I see. Uh - as for my next move, I’ll have to meet the Greybeards again and ask them to share some more of their knowledge. Or at least give me an honest opinion on what the odds of me defeating Alduin are…”

“You can do it, brother”, Genji said, ruffling Hanzo’s hair and making him swat his hands away with an annoyed muttering.

“However”, Gabe said, interrupting the brotherly bickering, a music to McCree’s ears, “Vekel has had a long day of work, but you look pretty done, too. Would you mind be a guest to the Thieves’ Guild, so that you can count on all of your strength for what’s to come?”

McCree couldn’t look at Hanzo, only at his feet nervously tapping on the floor.

_Say yes - please say yes, I want to wake up knowin’ yer just a couple of doors away…_

Hanzo yawned and nodded. He, too, was looking anywhere but at McCree, but there was a dark blush on his cheeks.

“I’d be most grateful to accept your offer”, he said in a slurred voice. At the end of Genji’s tale, he’d started to rub his eyes and stoop on his chair.

McCree got up and stopped short of scooping Hanzo in his arm and take him to bed. His swift movement made Gabe roll his eyes and Genji slap his hands on his knees.

“You two are obnoxious, I swear you make me want to throw up in my mouth…”

“Ah. No. I mean, sorry”. McCree rubbed the back of his neck and pointed vaguely at the bottom of the room. “There are beds. And covers. And… it’s safe, so…”

“Yes, yes, Hanzo can find the way on his own”. Gabe shoved McCree aside, and Genji followed them, laughing loud.

Only once, before they disappeared together in the Vault, McCree turned around and saw Hanzo hide a smile behind his hand. Then the elf followed his vague directions and turned to the door.

The rest of the evening dragged along in a mist of questions and anticipation. McCree retreated to his room - a Nightingale's privilege he was very fond of - and for a long time he laid half-dressed on his bed with his arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

The light of the small lamp on his night table painted weird shadows on the bare walls, making what little furniture he needed - a jug and basin by the bed, an old chair covered in his clothes - stand out like creepy creatures. It was warm here, but the heat running through his body had nothing to do with the temperature.

Hanzo had kissed him. Or the other way around, it didn’t really matter, but it was true and real, and his lips still prickled with the sensation. McCree grinned at the ceiling, feeling very much like a silly teen at his first crush and thoroughly enjoying the sensation.

Lingering on these recent memories, all taut muscles and eager hands on his back, was a pleasant, hear-warming activity, but not exactly the best idea to lull him to sleep. Closing his eyes filled his imagination with vivid pictures of what Hanzo was under that armor of his, and all the details he’d seen but once sparkled in his brain. A few months had passed, and if he had to be completely honest with himself he had to admit that Hanzo’s attractiveness hadn’t gone unnoticed since their first - or rather second - meeting.

He enjoyed a moment more of thick muscles and smooth skin before his trousers became slightly too tight for his comfort; when he lifted his head and looked down his body, an expected bulge greeted him with a quiet throbbing.

“No way, dude, ain’t gonna indulge in this”, he muttered to himself. He squirmed on the mattress to a more comfortable position, but with little success.

Oh, it was tempting, he said to himself as the strain in his crotch intensified. Thinking about taking the situation in his hand was a bit too much for his self-control, and definitely not something he hadn’t done in his not so frequent times of drought. But with Hanzo? It felt wrong, like taking a sneak peek at a surprise present.

The idea of some more intimate outcome was heavy in his mind, a persistent presence that made his arousal even more intense - but he could wait. He wanted to wait, letting his expectations build up until the right time.

Hanzo had a world to save, first.

He steadied his breath and tried to focus on anything but crimson eyes and demanding lips, something that took him lots of determination, and eventually, late at night, he regained enough composure to slip out of his clothes and into bed. Even if the covers felt rough on his skin and he was still reckless and too eager to walk out of his room and search for Hanzo again, he leaned to the night table and put off the lamp.

_He needs his rest. And tomorrow I’ll wake up with the promise of another kiss._

So he turned on his side and sighed, and after some time his heart rate slowed down and his breath steadied into sleep.

Here, behind the Ragged FLagon and in the core of the Thieves’ Guild lair, he felt safe enough not to worry about intruders; the knife under his pillow, though, was an old habit he was reluctant to let go of. So, when the door creaked open, his hand reacted before he could fully wake up: he grabbed the knife and opened his eyes in the darkness, holding his breath as he waited for the intruder to come in his range.

But from the threshold, only a shaky breathing came.

“Jesse?”

It was a dream. It could only be a dream, because with all his thinking of Hanzo it made sense that his memory played him tricks.

_Don’t get your hopes up, McCree. Now yer turning the lamp on and all you’ll see is an empty room._

Still holding the dagger, he extended his arm and fidgeted with the lamp until a frail flame trembled at his side.

For being a dream it was realistic. By the open door stood a sturdy figure, and from the bundle of covers wrapped around his body peeked a regal nose and a pair of long pointy ears.

McCree rubbed his eyes, but when he focused back on the door Hanzo was still there.

“Hanzo, is… that you? Are you alright, pumpkin?”

The affectionate nickname slipped, as usual, from his tongue, but this time it tasted different. Hanzo nodded, or so McCree thought as he looked at the bobbing of layers around his head.

“Yes, but I’m cold. This place is ridiculously damp, and apparently, your room is in better condition than the guest’s hall”. He seemed to float on the floor, dragging a train of blankets behind him. He reached the bed and looked down at McCree. His dark face was flushed, his eyes puffy with sleep and unfocused with exhaustion. “I’m sleeping here. Move aside”.

“You didn’t say the magic word…” McCree teased, a good strategy to keep his heartbeat at bay. Hanzo snorted and simply flopped on the bed, making McCree bounce and missing him by inches. “Alright, alright, make yerself at home, darlin’. Yer more than welcome”, he said, moving to the side and helping Hanzo out of his wrapping.

It took some time and a couple of attempted attacks at some of his dearest body parts, but eventually McCree managed to switch Hanzo’s many covers with his own, adding up his arm, gently resting on the other’s waist. The rough fabric of the elf’s loose pants was a stark contrast with the softness of the skin of his torso, and McCree tried not to get too distracted.

“Better?” he asked in a whisper. They were so close he could feel Hanzo’s breath on his throat, his cold feet tangled in his legs.

“Not yet”, he grumbled, snuggling closer and giving up any form of pretense. He nestled in McCree’s embrace in a shivering ball, and for a while they just stood like still, breathing in each other’s unspoken words. McCree ran his fingers through Hanzo’s hair, marveling once more at how silky it was, and he leaned closer to kiss his forehead.

Hanzo slowly unfurled and gingerly lay his hands on McCree’s chest. They were cold indeed, and McCree resisted the impulse to protest, but soon they warmed up against his skin, and Hanzo relaxed. He looked up and brushed McCree’s mouth with a feather-like kiss, as if to ask for his permission.

McCree agreed enthusiastically, and as his hand cupped Hanzo’s head, he pulled him closer for something more than that - a gentle touch at first, immediately opening up into a hot and slick flick of tongues. Hanzo melted into his kiss and pressed himself to McCree’s body, and only a long sigh that trembled from his chest made them break apart.

“Now?” McCree asked again with a grin. Hanzo pulled the cover around them and looked at him.

“Mh. Yes, better”, he said. He raked his fingertips through McCree’s chest hair, making him giggle and squirm a little.

“Are you for real?” McCree whispered, tracing the line of Hanzo’s jaw with his lips.

“Jesse, there… there’s something Genji didn’t mention before”, he said out of nowhere. He buried his nose in the crook of McCree’s shoulder and desperately held on to him.

The sudden change of mood startled McCree, but he couldn’t let go of Hanzo, nor force him to look at him, so he just caressed his bare back, up to his shoulder blades and down to the soft dimples on the small of his back.

“I’m here, if you wanna talk…”

“He could’ve been the Dragonborn. When I… attacked him, I killed the dragon inside him”. He sharply looked up, and his eyes were haunted, unfocused. “He says he’s forgiven me, but how could it be? I don’t deserve his forgiveness. I don’t deserve _this_!”, and his hands clenched hard on McCree’s muscles.

“No no, Han, don’t ever say that!” He brusquely sat up, carrying Hanzo with him even if it meant letting the covers slip down their bodies. “Yer a good man. Scrap that Dragonborn madness for a moment, yer a good man who did bad things because he had no choice, and accepted his chance to atone”.

“They want a hero, but I’m no hero, I’m just… I’m just _me_ , and what am I? I couldn’t even stay loyal to the Dark Brotherhood, I’m weak and untrustworthy, and…”

“I trust you”, he interrupted him. Hanzo’s face twisted in agony, and he tried to look away. McCree took his chin in his fingers and waited until the tension in his muscles relented a bit. Only then he gently pulled Hanzo’s face up. “Heard that? _I trust you_ ”.

“Why me?” he whispered in anguish, and to this McCree had no answer, only useless words of comfort. But since it was all he had, he let his heart speak.

“‘Cause fate works in weird ways. And I can’t tell you what’s to come - shit, I won’t tell you it’s gonna be easy or fun. We’re talkin’ of defeatin' the World Eater himself, not just some random thug in an alley - but you were born with the ability to do it”.

“I’m an assassin, Jesse. I’ve been for the past fifteen years, and I never brought anything but death… I can’t save the world”.

“You can”. He brushed their noses together, choking with sadness and the fierce desire to protect the man staring at him with huge, scared eyes. “Not gonna do that alone, you know it already”.

“But what if I end up endangering you, too? I… don’t want it. I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt because of me!”

“My choice, sunshine. Are you askin’ me to stand back and watch you walk in the jaws of the enemy on your own?”

Hanzo hesitated. His grip on McCree’s shoulders relaxed and turned into a long, unsteady caress down his chest.

“I should…”

“But I’m happy yer not doin’ it”.

A thick silence embraced them. McCree could hear the blood running under his skin and their heart beat as one, strong and stubborn in the deadly quiet of the Ratway. Hanzo’s sharp intake of breath broke the stasis, and when he blinked slowly some calm seemed to descend upon him.

“You’re so determined to see how this story is going, aren’t you?”

McCree laughed under his breath, placing a swift kiss on Hanzo’s mouth. And then another one, just to make clear that it was intentional. Hanzo added a third one, and the way his teeth closed on McCree’s lower lip for a second ignited his body.

_Wait. You told yerself to wait, and you shall do it._

“Should’ve seen it before, but yeah, ain’t goin’ anywhere without you, my pretty dragon prince…”

“Oh, stop it”, Hanzo chuckled, tickling McCree’s sides and making him laugh in earnest. “Your Mistress will be jealous, and I’ve had enough of your supposed good luck already”.

“She cares little about the means and more about the ends. I know why I’m with you”, and he brushed a loose strand from Hanzo’s forehead, “but I’m pretty sure she appreciates the concept of the Guild being intimate with the Dragonborn…”

“Intimate, mh?”

“Ah. Er - yeah, I mean, like… havin' business and shit. I wasn’t suggestin' anything…”

Hanzo laughed at his embarrassment and leaned back on the bed.

“Can I stay here for tonight?”

“Has that ever been in question?” McCree turned around, fully awake on a mindblowing wave of emotions and happiness, and turned the lamp off. Before he could lay his head back on the pillow, though, Hanzo threw one arm around his waist and plastered to his back. His other arm slipped under the pillow.

McCree didn’t move, frozen in astonishment and at the same time perfectly satisfied with this turn of the events.

“Big spoon?”

Hanzo mumbled against the back of his neck, his warm breath caressing his skin. The light pressure of his fingers seemed to light dots of fire on McCree’s chest, and in the complete darkness he could almost see them move gently on his skin.

McCree couldn’t close his eyes. Every inch of his body was acutely aware of the muscles stretching against him - thick thighs and taut abs, the rise and fall of Hanzo’s chest between his shoulder blades and the barely noticeable brush of his nipples.

_I shouldn’t focus on that. Oh no, now I’m overthinkin’ this._

He gulped and forced his breath down to a relaxed rhythm, but relaxing was not an option when the touch of soft lips insisted so much on his shoulder, or Hanzo moved slowly to adjust himself on his back. McCree bit the tip of his tongue when Hanzo’s hips rolled against his ass.

McCree’s eyed blew wide and his fingers twitched.

_Is that… what I think it is?_

It was. Another subtle, casual movement behind him, and the touch of an unmistakable bulge returned.

_Oh shit._

Sleep was gone, and in its place a suffocating dizziness invaded him. Everything in him burned, craved to turn around and make his growing desire clear - not that it was anything but that to him, because with every second, with every movement of Hanzo’s hand up his side the throbbing from his crotch grew a bit more intense.

He tentatively pushed his hips back, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Hanzo gasped, lips parted and wet on his neck, and slowly responded with more pressure. The unequivocal shape of his cock, hard and hot, rubbed against McCree in one long, deep thrust.

He stifled a moan when Hanzo caressed his hip, fingertips trembling on the side of his loincloth - and the light feeling of fabric on his skin suddenly became insufferable, rough and thick and keeping them from a full contact.

McCree clenched his fist in the bedsheet and arched his back in an open invitation, making Hanzo rock faster and more deliberately against him. His own cock stood up to its fullest now, throbbing fast, needy.

“Fuck…” Hanzo grunted on his neck. His hand clenched on McCree’s hips, and his movements grew more erratic.

It was not cold anymore: McCree felt sweat bead on his forehead and down his back, caught in the rhythm the other posed. It felt good, a secret need they shared in silence, but it fed his desire to the point of insatisfaction.

_How wrong would it be to turn around and just beg him to fuck me?_

Hanzo leaned his brow to the back of McCree’s head, panting harshly and ruffling his hair.

“Jesse - Jesse, m-maybe I should go to… to my bed, it’s…”

“No”, he blurted out, closing his fingers on Hanzo’s hand before it could slip away. He could barely recognize his voice, rough and desperate; he didn’t even try to hide it. “Don’t go. Don’t stop”, he whispered, and Hanzo swallowed hard.

A sharp intake of breath, and Hanzo dragged his hand from McCree’s grip.

“Are you sure? Because I can wait, I… well, not really, but I have perfectly functioning hands, so…”

Even if the mental picture of Hanzo jerking off to him, alone in his bed, thoughts full of his name and body, was probably the hottest thing McCree could’ve fantasized to, he chuckled and leaned back against him.

“Put those to a good use, then…”

He turned his face on the pillow to give Hanzo better access to his mouth, and he was rewarded with a sloppy, hungry kiss. He moaned on Hanzo’s lips, searching for his tongue, biting and opening up under his touch.

The hand on his hip, large and soft but where the callouses from the bow scratched his skin, slowly slipped under his loincloth.

 _Too_ slowly, and McCree grunted a muffled protest. Hanzo hushed him with another kiss, running a trembling thumb on the long muscles and bones of his lower stomach.

He couldn’t see, and this enhanced every sensation: McCree got lost in Hanzo’s rutting and in his mouth, both wanting to see every detail of his body and happy to live the moment in the mystery of shadows. When Hanzo dipped his hand further down and sunk between his legs, McCree jerked back and broke from the kiss.

A single touch up his shaft, a long caress, Hanzo’s thumb resting on the oversensitive, slick head and drawing gentle circles - McCree let out a small whine and took Hanzo’s hand in his own, a silent prayer for _more, now._

The soft, awed gasp in his ear spoke volumes of the elf’s appreciation, and driving his fist down to the base and then up again, bucking in the friction, could’ve tipped McCree over the edge in seconds. Unflattering to say the least, it was the demand of the lowest of instincts and not what McCree wanted. He reluctantly let go of Hanzo and extended his arm out of bed, fumbling in the darkness and cursing between gritted teeth.

Hanzo never stopped touching him, silent and almost reverent, his warm, unsteady breath in his ear. McCree blindly reached out for the drawer, and when his knuckles hit something round and warm he growled for the unavoidable outcome.

The lamp fell and shattered on the floor, and Hanzo, startled, nearly grabbed McCree’s junk.

“Woah there!”

“Sorry - sorry. I… er… sorry…”

McCree chuckled and fumbled until he managed to pull the drawer open and retrieve a small round bottle.

“Just do it again, wouldn’t you? It was unexpected but… I liked it”.

Hanzo bit the crook of McCree’s shoulder and leaned over him, his hand crawling up his arm until he found the bottle.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Give it a try, sugar”.

McCree relaxed on his side, and the soft sound of the lid popping open echoed in the room. Such a small thing, and yet enough to make his breath catch in his throat - expectations were blowing through the roof, now.

The sweet scent of the oil filled his nose and went up to his brain. A long trail of kisses peppered his neck and his shoulders, and Hanzo’s other hand slipped from under the pillow. There were steel and fire in the caress through his hair, a promise of strength and passion hardly kept at bay.

The slick touch on the small of his back made him hold his breath in anticipation. He tried to stand still, mostly to guard his dignity just a bit, but then Hanzo slid further down and his fingertips found him eager, ready to be opened. He groaned loudly and shuddered when Hanzo breached in, pushing a finger inside him with slow care.

“Like this?” He whispered in his ear before sliding in deeper.

McCree nodded speechless, invisible in the dark.

“Yeah…” he added then in a rough, breathy voice. Hanzo’s lips brushed the shell of his ear, descended to nibble at his earlobe and at his throat. His knuckles hit McCree’s ass, adding pressure to pressure.

Hanzo pumped in and out a couple of times, and already McCree was gritting his teeth and keening in the pillow.

“More?”

“Shadows, yeah”, McCree replied in a gasp that turned into a low grumble when Hanzo carefully added a second finger.

The excess of oil was dripping down McCree’s cleft to his balls, a whisper on his heated skin. He grabbed a handful of sheets and rocked his hips back to meet Hanzo’s hand, to feel the stretch and the liquid friction that fueled the tension already coiling in his spine.

And Hanzo didn’t hold back, breathing hard against his neck, never stopping when he lifted himself up to kiss him again. Chaotic and messy, teeth clashing and tongues searching and licking.

When Hanzo scissored his fingers and bent them to brush him _just right,_ McCree shook all over and let go of the bedsheets. His hand, unsteady and nearly moving on its own will, slithered to his body until he could grab his own cock in a dry grip. Hanzo panted behind him and bucked his hips in tandem with the rhythmic movements of his hand.

An erratic stroke of his fist lighted a spark of pleasure in the mist of desire of McCree’s body, and he let out a strangled noise that contained Hanzo’s name and a wordless plea.

Still, Hanzo understood. He pushed his ring finger in and pressed McCree’s insides again and again, enough to make him lose any composure - and how needy his bitten off sounds were, how close he was with every movement of his fingers around his cock - only to stop abruptly and pull out

McCree had no time to complain about the sudden emptiness: the scent of the oil returned, stronger than ever, and before he could catch his breath or regain enough coordination in his fingers, McCree felt the blunt pressure of Hanzo’s dick against his ass.

He couldn’t speak or ask, no teasing or honeyed words - just impatient breaths as he bent his knees up to his chest and moaned. Hanzo pushed harder, his grip on McCree’s hair tightening, and when the tip of his cock found its way in, they both let out a gasp that was half surprise and half pleasure.

Hanzo waited. Even if his whole body trembled with the need of release, that same need that was devouring McCree, he gave him time to adjust, to let the pain fade.

But it was not pain at all. Fingertips hovering around his shaft, precum slippery on his skin, McCree arched back, and Hanzo grabbed his thigh.

Inch by inch his thick cock slid in, and when their hips flushed together Hanzo growled from the bottom of his throat.

McCree was beyond the ability to form anything but whiny gasps, something that turned into a ragged whimper when Hanzo started to move. Holding McCree’s leg up, his thighs spread, he slipped almost completely out, only to thrust back with a loud slap of flesh on flesh. He pulled McCree’s hair harder still, as if anchoring himself to him not to get lost, and for McCree this was nearly too much.

He met every one of Hanzo’s movements pushing his hips back, full and clenched in a fiery grip of pleasure that made his skin too sensitive and his eyes water. How long had they been into it? Too much, and only with his sternest determination McCree stopped his body to betray him too soon.

Still, keeping up with Hanzo was getting harder - the deep thrusts that reverberated to his core, the hand fumbling from his hair to his cheek and jaw in a brutal caress, the way Hanzo grabbed his chin and pressed his head back against him to kiss him, to moan his name against his lips, all of this was straining the tension inside him.

He barely noticed when Hanzo grew erratic inside him: electricity tingled from his feet, up to his legs and crotch, and the restrained energy in his lower body started to throb and pulse. He reached for his own cock again, and the sound of his fist hitting his muscles added up to that of Hanzo fucking him with the craving of a warrior during a fight.

The clenching in his body increased until he was sure he could never breathe again and his heart would explode from his chest - and then it broke. McCree would have cried out loud, but his voice was gone and he only managed a strangled animalistic noise as he came in his hand, wincing so hard Hanzo almost slipped out. The pulsations burst into light and colors behind his closed lids, until he became nothing but his blinding, burning release.

He winded down releasing a long held breath to find that Hanzo was still penetrating him, faster, and even if he was done already, McCree groaned with enthusiasm at the overstimulation. Painful but not really, and the sounds Hanzo made - those lovely, violent sounds - were so hot his sore body reacted with another contraction. He involuntarily clenched around Hanzo, who squeezed McCree’s leg and scratched him before closing his teeth on his shoulder and growl. His last thrusts were so strong they moved McCree on the mattress, eliciting a loud and menacing creaking from the bedframe, but then he, too, shivered and lost control of his body. McCree was still panting when Hanzo came, too, thick and hot inside him. He stopped after another small eternity, slowing down until only a lazy roll of his hips was left, and he hunched over McCree, kissing him full on the mouth without even catching his breath.

McCree surrendered, soft and sated, tasting Hanzo’s tongue in abandonment.

Scraps of thoughts floated back into his head, and they were all for Hanzo.

_No, no it’s not a crush, it’s never been anything as trivial as a crush, and I must guard myself, or I’ll get lost in you._

Hanzo lifted his head, still buried deep inside him, and gave him a second, lighter kiss. His signature. McCree corrected himself.

_But gettin’ lost in you is what I want, and I’m not afraid._

The time they spent like this, without speaking, still joined and drinking in each other’s heart beat, stretched and twisted like a dream, and McCree came back to his senses only when Hanzo moved gingerly behind him.

“Are you uncomfortable, darlin’?”

“My hand is tingling”, and he wiggled his fingers under McCree’s jaw.

Chuckling, McCree shifted forward until he felt Hanzo still half hard cock slip out of him, and not without a bit of longing already. He leaned out of bed, blindly searching for a towel, and soon a small white light turned on, floating above his head.

“Thank you, sugar”, he said, immediately finding what he was looking for. He quickly cleaned himself, but when he turned around to offer Hanzo the towel, his mouth opened in awe.

He’d thought many things of Hanzo since their first meeting: he was cute, pretty, beautiful, handsome, but right now, bathed in the gentle light of his own spell, he looked otherwordly. Maybe it was the dragon blood inside him, but no way that dark creature, with a cloud of black hair tangled around his face, his eyes hooded and his lips kiss-bruised, was of mortal flesh.

McCree dropped the towel and he let his gaze explore every curve and edge of the body in front of him, every muscle, every shadow, until Hanzo chuckled softly.

“You’re not half bad yourself, by the way”, he said, cocking an eyebrow. McCree blinked and rubbed the back of his neck, and a new wave of blush ran to his cheeks.

“That’s really kind of you”, he said. He crouched and took the towel, handing it to Hanzo and deliberatedly touching his hand in the process.

In a few seconds they were reasonably ready to go to bed - and to sleep, this time - again. Hanzo pulled his pants up and curled contentedly in the curve of McCree’s arm, his head resting on his chest and his hands lightly brushing his waist.

After some time the spell died out, and McCree sighed in complete happiness. Right when he thought Hanzo already asleep, though, the elf spoke in the darkness.

“Do you think this is wrong?”

McCree frowned, even if he knew the other couldn’t see him.

“This what?”

“Me and you. Us. Because I should focus on being the Dragonborn, but… but this feels too right and good to be something I could regret”.

Swallowing a knot of emotion, McCree waited for his voice to be steady and curled a long lock around his finger.

“Well, Han, yer askin’ a thief his opinion on what’s right and wrong. Truth is, I never cared, but I care about you. I want to be with you”.

Hanzo sighed, maybe in relief, maybe in joy; he snuggled closer still, wrapping them both in a cocoon of covers, and pecked one last kiss at the corner of McCree’s mouth.

“This is what I wanted to hear…”

“Goodnight, Dragonborn”.

“Goodnight, Nightingale”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't keep them sad any longer, I'm sorry (narrator: she wasn't really sorry). A short break from dragons and fighting - and both will be back in full strength soon!  
> And since some of you expected McCree to have followed Hanzo, know that he considered it, but eventually Gabe talked him out of it - Hanzo needed time, and respecting you SO boundaries is important. This doesn't mean that some other time McCree will calmly accept to be left behind :3
> 
> (Oh yeah that's another Dragon Age reference there)
> 
> Guys your support means the world to me, I want to bake cookies for you all. With chocolate chips.  
> AND LOOK! MORE ART [HERE](https://crustaceaan.tumblr.com/post/170496282628/kind-of-messy-since-i-am-not-used-to-digital)
> 
> go leave some hearts there because it's beautiful.


	11. Gein arkh men

McCree slept in the next morning, and at first, waking up to a snoring bundle wrapped around his chest confused him more than a bit. Still groggy, he blinked and wondered where he was, who he was, what year it was and mostly whose hand was tucked under his head. He grunted and turned his face on the pillow - and he couldn’t have hoped for a better good morning.

Hanzo had seemed a powerful, supernatural creature the night before, but now he was but a roll of covers with tousled hair and his face made sweet and vulnerable by sleep. McCree yawned and stretched, blissfully aware of some pleasant little pains here and there as a reminder of their night together; he rolled to his side and kissed Hanzo’s forehead, making his ears twitch and his long lashes quiver.

“Mmmph…” the elf groaned, pressing his face down in the pillow.

“Sleep, darlin’. You’ve earned it”. He caressed his cheek and got up, quickly but carefully washing his face and mouth in the basin and slipping into his everyday clothes. By the time he’d put his boots on, Hanzo was snoring softly again.

Staring at his lover - and how weird and wonderful the definition still sounded to him - McCree smiled. The idea of waking him up and have another round was enticing, but Hanzo really needed to rest, and their chances to get more than this night under a proper roof were rather high.

_Once yer up, pumpkin, I’m takin’ you to High Hrothgar again. And then, if we happen to need a plan, I’ll help you with that._

He left his room as if walking on a cloud of satisfaction that, apparently, was evident on his face. He met some of his companions, and even from the quietest of them he got an arched eyebrow and a questioning look.

When he reached the Ragged Flagon, he knew he couldn’t elude Genji’s questions. The youngest Shimada, sitting at a table with a pile of papers scattered around him, looked up from his work, and his red eyes crinkled with mischief.

“I know that look of yours”, he said, smug. McCree ignored him and went to the counter, where Vekel passed him a sweetroll without asking inopportune questions. The first bite, rich with cinnamon and butter, woke him up for real, and he turned to Genji with his mouth full.

“Don’t think you can sneak out of this - we’re a family, and I need to know”. Genji perched his elbows on the table and joined his fingers in front of his face. “You fucked my brother, right?”

Vekel dropped the tankard he was cleaning, and when he met McCree’s and Genji’s stares he disappeared under the counter to retrieve it. It took him an obnoxiously long time to do so.

McCree blinked and tilted his head toward Genji.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You fucked my brother, it’s written in bold bright red letters on your face”.

“What - no! Of course not!” he replied with all the outrage he could put into his voice. Not laughing was hard.

Genji leaned back in his chair with a grin.

“Good, it would’ve been awkward, and I didn’t want to…”

“No, no, don’t worry. I didn’t fuck him”. He took another bite of his breakfast. “He fucked me”, and he proceeded to chew with the most innocent face ever.

Genji made a strangled noise and flinched in his seat. He stared at McCree with his eyes wide and, grimacing, he stood up and turned around, throwing the papers around.

“I didn’t want to know that”, he grumbled.

“No, buddy, that’s exactly what you asked me! Don’t blame it on me if the answer is not what I…”

“Alright, no, stop it. If you want us to be friends again you’re doing the rest of the paperwork for me. I need some fresh air…”

“Is that another way of saying ‘I’m gonna go make out with my cute Mara’s priest in a dark alley’ or…”

The tip of Genji’s ears blushed a dark red and he stomped away.

“You’re a terrible friend, Jesse McCree. A terrible, terrible friend”.

McCree laughed and stooped to retrieve the papers.

“No I’m not, since I’m gonna revise this - uh - accounting bullshit for you”, he said, flicking his fingers on the papers. Genji relaxed and looked at McCree from over his shoulder.

“And before you give in to the temptation of giving me more inappropriate details, I like this arrangement”. He pulled his hood up and smiled, a white flash in the shadows. “Make him happy. He needs it”, and he disappeared in the tunnels.

McCree finished his sweetroll and licked his fingers. Vekel, quiet and discreet as usual, only snorted in amusement at Genji’s last remark, then he resumed his duties as a bartender. The rhythmic sweeps of his broom were the only other sound in the Ragged Flagon, and for a while McCree kept his word and finished Genji’s job.

Hanzo emerged from his room sometime after midday, when the totality of the Guild was busy running errands and even Vekel had taken a break for lunch. McCree looked up from his work - tedious, horribly tedious work - and his frown disappeared when Hanzo smiled at him.

“Rise and shine, Dragonborn”, he greeted him. Hanzo rubbed his eyes with his fists and joined him, stooping to steal a swift kiss.

It felt so domestic and heart-warming that McCree, as he cupped Hanzo’s face in his hand, forgot that out there war and dragons were still gnawing at the land.

And, more importantly, it was a seal that made their night together something real and lasting. It washed the last of McCree’s doubts away and made him sigh happily against Hanzo’s lips.

“Hello”, the elf whispered with a smile.

“You look good. Slept well?” Hanzo did look well rested indeed, not as drawn as the night before. He tied his hair back in a quick knot on the top of his head and stretched like a cat, moaning.

“Better than I expected. It was not so cold, after all… I wish I could enjoy such a luxury a bit longer”.

Their bubble of joy stained slightly. Soon they would have to leave again - very soon, considering how ready to tackle the subject Hanzo was. McCree collected the scribbled papers in a tidy pile and stood up, taking Hanzo’s hand.

“When are we gonna leave, then?”

“The sooner the better”, Hanzo said, turning serious. “The Greybeards owe me some more insight into their wisdom, if they want their horn back”.

A creeping shadow crawled upon them. McCree pulled Hanzo in for a hug, touching his forehead with his lips.

“I’m ready when you are, darlin’. Say the word, and we’re off for Ivarstead”.

 

McCree wasn’t proud of it, but he enjoyed every moment he got to spend with Hanzo on the road. After leaving Riften, with many words of advice from Genji (included some threat of bodily harm in case McCree let something bad happen to Hanzo, and vice-versa) and Gabe’s reassurance, they left for Ivarstead on a pair of anonymous dark horses. Trustworthy beasts, they carried them down the main roads in steady steps under a pale blue sky.

Skyrim was in bloom and spring invaded the land with patches of flowers and swarms of butterflies. The good weather meant more bandits here and there, but avoiding them was not a problem for the couple. And McCree had many nights to spend with Hanzo. When they were not exhausted from the ride, maybe with the blessing of a roof over their heads, it was as if they couldn’t keep their hands - and lips and tongues and everything else - off each other. After the dark break when he’d thought Hanzo hated him, McCree felt again the full excitement of adventure, and if he focused on enjoying the good in every day, he could ignore the burned villages and terrified farmers they met on their trip.

Even the hike up the Seven Thousand Steps (Hanzo tried to count them again but to no avail) tasted sweeter. Yes, it was steep, and yes, as they approached the top, snow appeared again on the pines and slopes, but now McCree could embrace Hanzo and warm him without worrying about it making the other uncomfortable.

So, when they eventually reached the looming bulk of High Hrothgar on a bright morning, McCree was in a decently good mood. The same could not be said for Hanzo, who grew grim and stern despite the unfaltering smile he always reserved to McCree.

The elf shrugged the thick hood off his head and shivered. The tip of his nose was red with cold, his mouth set in a stubborn straight line. At his belt, the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller was an inconspicuous package wrapped in old leather.

“Bring it on”, he said, his voice muffled by his several scarves. He held his hand out for McCree to take and looked up at the temple.

McCree nodded and closed his ethereal fingers around Hanzo’s palm. “Right beside you, honey”.

They walked the steps together, and even when the massive doors opened for them Hanzo didn’t let go of him.

High Hrothgar was, predictably enough, unchanged in those last months. Same echoing halls, same warmth from the braziers and smell of incense. And, of course, same four ghastly figures in black lurking at the corners.

Master Arngeir emerged in the light with his hands hidden in his sleeves.

“Welcome back, Dragonborn. We’re glad to see your soul is… in harmony”, the old man said after a quick glance at their joined hands. McCree was ready to let him go, but Hanzo squeezed him harder. A soft chuckle came from a corner, and McCree turned to see master Wulfgar (if that one was him indeed, they all looked the same) hide a grin in his beard.

“Yes, thank you, I’m better”, Hanzo snarled. His grip on McCree would’ve been painful for his flesh hand, and he reluctantly released him with a sigh. “I have something for you”, he added, undoing the ties at his belt.

Arngeir pale eyes went sharp with interest, and he took a step forward.

"Ah! You've retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Well done. You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognize you fully as Dragonborn”. He extended his thin hand, but Hanzo stopped him with a quick gesture.

“Not so fast, master Arngeir. I want something in return”.

McCree groaned and covered his face with his hand. Alright, Hanzo was the Dragonborn, but he thought he’d made it clear enough that the Greybeards deserved his utter respect - and the tone Hanzo was using was the very opposite.

Arngeir didn’t lose his composure, but his eyes hardened.

“Are you holding our most sacred relic as a hostage, young elf? This is not what…”

“It was Alduin. The dragon that incinerated Helgen, the one who’s calling his spawn back to life. The World Eater himself”, he snapped, clutching his hand around the Horn. “I need to learn the Shout to defeat him”.

The braziers dimmed at once, and for a second High Hrothgar went pitch black. McCree instinctively reached for his dagger, but then the light returned and Arngeir was looming over Hanzo, his wrinkled face monstrous in its brutal hardness.

“Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?" He asked in a deep voice that trembled in the pit of McCree’s stomach. Hanzo was pale but stood his ground, a protective hand on the Horn.

“Does it matter?”

Some of the terrible aura faded from Arngeir. Now he only looked angry and human.

“Yes. For matters of such gravity, we need to know where you stand. Or who you stand with”.

Hanzo turned to look at McCree, who stepped in and glared at the four old monks.

“Masters, with all the due respect, I won’t let you threaten him”, he growled beyond common sense and rational fear. But Hanzo shook his head.

“Who I stand with is my business”, he replied with dignity, but not enough to impress Arngeir.

"If you wish to stand alone, so be it. If you wish for our help, you'll answer my question”. He let his thin arms down his sides. “And you need our help indeed. We all know it”.

Hanzo opened his mouth for another venomous outburst, and McCree ignored his dagger for his more trusted - albeit probably useless - crossbow. But after challenging the Greybeards with a stubborn silence and tense posture, Hanzo gave in and narrowed his eyes.

“You should know the answer already. It was written on Alduin’s Wall - isn’t that your field of study, old man?”

Arngeir barked a very human noise of contempt and looked away.

“The Blades! Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

“I won’t let you speak to me like that!” Hanzo’s voice wasn’t louder; if possible, his whisper trembled with even more fury, and McCree shivered at the power it hid. “I’m nobody’s tool or puppet, and I demand you never refer to me as such!”

This struck a chord in Arngeir’s demeanor. His three companions were but shadows in the distance, and they didn’t object when he backed away from Hanzo with great effort and bent his head.

“No, no, of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning - the Blades are not to be trusted. They crave their old glory first and foremost, and their words of obedience are but a honey coating in their true motives”.

Hanzo scrunched his nose.

“If Delphine is honey coated, then I don’t want to know what she really tastes like. But I’ve had enough of this pointless chat, can you teach me the Shout? It’s why I came here”.

Arngeir turned to the other Greybeards in a silent consultation, and he shook his head.

"No. I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called 'Dragonrend', but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice”. He looked frail and bitter, but very determined too. “We seek for peace and enlightenment, not violence”.

“Ulfric is really the most peaceful and enlightened guy ever”, McCree muttered to himself, but his voice was covered by Hanzo’s outraged words.

“What? But… you must know it! You know every Shout, why wouldn’t you…”

“Dragonrend was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself”. He sighed, sad. “We won’t let this happen”.

Hanzo stood speechless for a moment, before nodding and snatching the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from his belt.

“I see there’s no reasoning with you. Have your trinket, then. I’ll find someone else who will teach me. Someone who’s less willing to let the world be destroyed”.

“Only Paarthurnax, the leader of our order, knows the words”.

Hanzo rudely put the Horn in Arngeir’s hands and hissed.

“Great, there’s more of you around. And you didn’t tell me about this Paarthurnax because…”

“You weren’t ready. You still aren’t ready”.

“So you’re not helping me”.

"No. Not now. Not until you return to the path of wisdom."

McCree could see the tension straining in Hanzo. He knew, with a consciousness deeper than his wits, that it was costing him every drop of his determination to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself. I was written in his clenched jaws and closed eyes, in the vague tremor of his arms.

Eventually, the elf turned on his heels and gestured him with his head.

“We’re leaving”, he sneered, flaring his nostrils.

And McCree wanted to object - he knew he needed to, because the Greybeards were the only resource they had to learn that goddamned Shout. The Blades were experts in dragonlore, sure, but this was beyond their field of expertise, and they had no one to turn to. But he knew as well that speaking to Hanzo now would only result in more frustration, and would account to nothing; so he nodded, casting one last look to High Hrothgar and bowing with awkward respect to the four monks, before following Hanzo to the door.

They never made it to the threshold.

A voice he’d never heard, as thundering as that of a dragon itself, perhaps even more intimidating, rumbled under the stone halls. He couldn’t understand a word, except for what sounded like Arngeir’s name, and when he sharply turned around he saw it was not their guide speaking. Einarth stood tall and motionless, only his long white beard visible from his hood, and the three other wisemen stared at him in complete disbelief. Hanzo gasped as the Voice roared around them - within them - and every trace of outrage faded from his face into reverent fear.

Arngeir backed away, and he, too, looked shocked at his companion’s words, but his stupor didn’t last long. When Einarth fell silent and stared at him, the Greybeard took a deep breath and nodded in acknowledgment. He looked at Hanzo, still frozen with his hand on the door, and his thin shoulders relaxed.

“Dragonborn... wait. Forgive me. I was... intemperate”. The words sounded like they were forced out of his throat, a display of humility he looked less than eager to provide. Still, he called Hanzo with his hand. “I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make."

Hanzo didn’t move at first. He looked at Arngeir, then at McCree, then back at the Greybeards again.

McCree shuddered his awe off. What he’d witnessed was something that no common man could ever imagine, but then again, he was with the Dragonborn, so marvels were a daily occurrence. When Hanzo turned to him again, he gently lay his hand on his back and tried an unsteady smile.

“Go, darlin’. It’s your chance to shine”.

Slowly, like a wild creature approaching a possible danger, Hanzo left McCree and reached Arngeir again.

“Will you teach me Dragonrend, then?”

“I was sincere when I said we don’t know that Shout. But you deserve to speak to Paarthurnax”. He sighed and shook his head. “Ah, I’m growing too old for this. I’m really sorry about my behavior, young man, it was unworthy of me. Come, let the Greybeards Speak to you and welcome you to this sacred place. After, I’ll show you the way to the Throat of the World, and our Master”.

Some of Hanzo’s temper subsided, and he didn’t protest anymore. McCree stifled a relieved sigh when he saw him walk among the Greybeards, and he leaned back against a column.

Arngeir, the last in the small parade, stopped to look at McCree.

“It won’t take long, Nightingale. Tell me, though, why are you here? Is it for profit? Because the Dragonborn is not a legend to be exploited for…”

“No”, he blurted out. Hanzo was gone already, or he wouldn’t have dared to say those words out loud. Not yet. “It’s not for that. But… I can’t leave him, he’s too important to me”.

“And too close to your heart”. Arngeir smiled and proceeded to join the others. “I should object that, since you’re not the Dragonborn, the way to the top of the mountain is closed to you, but I won’t. As I said, I’m growing old and soft - and Skies know your partner will need all the help and support he can gather”.

With a last silent bow, Arngeir left, and soon he, too, disappeared behind a distant door.

McCree let out a long breath and stood up, aimlessly wandering High Hrothgar and ending up sitting on one of the steps that led to the courtyard.

_Too close to your heart. Yeah, that’s a good way to put it - and weren’t I a scaredy cat, I’d be honest with me and accept that this has a name. But it’s scary, even scarier for Hanzo, and ain’t gonna put this further weight on his shoulders._

From outside, a chorus of powerful Voices made the foundations of High Hrothgar itself shake. Startled, McCree jumped to his feet and to the door, but he dared not open it.

No matter how much he wanted to make sure Hanzo was fine, he had to trust the Greybeards. This mystery was not for him, and he was breaking enough taboos already without having four grumpy hermits go after him too. It was hard, but he forced himself to wait, listening to every sound from the courtyard.

When Hanzo’s voice, low and pragmatic, rose in a colloquial tone over the wind, he relaxed and closed his eyes in a silent prayer.

Whatever awaited them beyond High Hrothgar, Hanzo was being prepared to face it, and if there was someone he could trust to take him to the fabled boss of a legendary order, it was Hanzo.

It wasn’t long before the door opened again. Despite all his self-reassurance, McCree couldn’t stop himself to run to Hanzo the moment he appeared on the threshold. Even with the Greybeards crowding behind him, he took the elf in a swift embrace and looked attentively at his face.

“You alright, sunshine? Did they hurt you or…”

Hanzo, tired as he was, blushed fiercely and smiled at him, pushing him back without letting him go.

“I am. It was… weird. But I’m still to find something that is less than weird in this adventure”.

The Greybeards flocked back inside, each and every one of them giving the couple an amused look. Einarth even chuckled to himself, and McCree quickly stepped away from Hanzo, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh shit. Sorry, that was inappropriate, wasn’t it?”

“Probably. Not that I mind”, he replied with a wink. Nervousness was gone, and he looked eager to go.

“You are equipped for your journey, Dragonborn. Remember our Words, and…” Arngeir hesitated and arched his eyebrows. “And maybe try to be more accommodating with our Master. He’s more patient than us all, but he can be… well, you’ll see. Sky above, Voice within, my friend”.

So, without giving McCree enough time to mentally prepare for the task, they were in the snow again. High Hrothgar stood dark and menacing behind them, but it was still better than the raging storm shrouding the mountaintop into a thick gray blanket of clouds.

McCree pointed his nose to the sky and frowned.

“You sure it’s a good idea? Shouldn’t we wait for a better day, or…”

“No”, Hanzo said, covering his face with his cloak. “I know how to get there. I think it could work, and I really want to give it a try”. He rolled his shoulders back and made his way to the narrow path climbing up the mountainside.

They were still in sight of the temple when the storm hit in full force. McCree, knee-deep into the snow, cursed and tried to cover his face with his arm against the hell of ice needles that slashed his face. He did his best to stand in front of Hanzo and shield him from the furious wind, but he felt less than useless against the anger of the elements.

“We gotta go back!” he cried out. He doubted Hanzo could hear him over the howling of the storm, so he tried to look at him. His eyes burned, and Hanzo was just a dark lump against the absolute white surrounding them. Such lump put out a thick arm and grabbed McCree’s elbow, pulling him back.

McCree tried to protest - damn, Hanzo was shorter than him and sensitive to the cold - but his words turned into coughing after a lungful of dusty snow filled his chest.

“ _I can do it_!” Hanzo yelled. McCree stumbled back down the slope and couldn’t stop Hanzo from stepping, clumsy and shaking, in front of him.

And next thing he knew, Hanzo was shouting at the clouds. But it was not like anything he’d ever heard come out from the elf’s mouth - not even that first attempted shout on their first visit to the Greybeards. It was deeper, longer, a roar that filled the skies and made McCree stagger back in bewilderment.

The moment the sound died down, it carried the wind with it. Suddenly they were not wrapped in ice and mist, but the mountain above them stood silent and clear under a perfect blue sky.

Hanzo panted and half fell back in McCree’s arms, who was quick to hold him up.

“Hanzo, babe please tell me you’re fine!” He muttered in frenzy, touching his face and forcing it up until he met Hanzo’s eyes.

Unfocused at first, after some blinking they stared deep at him and a slow smile stretched Hanzo’s lips.

“It… worked”, he said between chattering teeth.

McCree cautiously put him back n his feet but still held him tight.

“What was that? It was some dragon thing, did the Greybeards taught you…”

“They… they told me it would help us on our way up. They were right”.

Even if McCree could see little of Hanzo’s face under his hood, he had the distinct impression that trust was finally winning over doubt. He embraced Hanzo some more, mostly to make sure he was still made of flesh and bone, and smiled back.

“You never cease to amaze me, darlin’... let’s go, the way is long”.

The hike to the Throat of the World would’ve been impossible under the storm, but even under the clear sky, it was still hard enough to require McCree all of his physical strength. He led the way, making a path in the snow for Hanzo, who followed suit with a non-stop flow of complaints and shivers.

By the time they reached the mountaintop, McCree’s lungs were on fire, his back drenched in sweat and his face numb with cold. He shot a quick look at Hanzo, who plodded in the snow with the most miserable face ever.

His hair was a limp cobweb sticking to his face, his ears flopped low and his nose very red. That pouty face was probably the cutest thing McCree had ever seen, and only by sticking to the importance of their mission he managed not to swoop him up to smother him in kisses.

“Look, we’re almost there”, he said as soon as Hanzo reached him. He pointed at the sharp rocks emerging from the snow against the blue and grinned. “If luck assists us, I bet we’ll be back to High Hrothgar for supper”.

“I can’t wait to dine on dry fish and stale bread”, he grunted. He took over McCree and stomped up for the last few dozens of feet.

McCree guarded his back, and an intrusive thought peeked in his mind.

_There are no buildings here. How can someone survive in such an unfriendly environment?_

He was still pondering, eyes scanning the white reality around them, when Hanzo got to the top of the mountain. The elf stopped and spread his arms.

“It’s empty!” he said out loud. The slice of face not covered in furs and wool was quickly switching from fatigue to burning outrage. “Nothing! Not a house, a hut, a tent, anything!”

He was not wrong. McCree was inclined to consider this Paartursomething guy around the other Greybeards’ age, which made him a bit older than the mountains themselves. The peak was so cold it made his own joints ache, and McCree was a young man at the top of his physical strength.

“They’re mocking me! All that Shouting nonsense only to have us freeze our asses and sweat at the same time up this godforsaken place, and I swear I’m so done with this…”

Hanzo’s angry rant faded away into McCree’s ears. He was still talking, and in very offended tones, too, but he wasn’t listening to him anymore. He squinted at the gray and white rocks behind Hanzo and blinked.

They moved. A subtle shiver, with trails of snow falling down the sides of what looked like a spiky boulder and nothing more.

 _No, it can’t be. My eyes are sore from the glare and the wind. Rocks don’t_ move _._

It was true, of course. Rocks didn’t move, but what McCree was looking at was not a rock.

McCree stumbled back into the snow and his mouth opened slowly, as slow was the stirring of immense, pale wings unfurling from around a massive body.

The first dragon they’d met - and, according to Hanzo’s tales, Alduin himself - had been a creature of shadows and flame, while the second was more physical, a giant living predator.

This one was nothing like them. It was big, thicker than Alduin and at least as long, but it seemed carved in the mountain itself.

“... and now I have snow in my socks, and we’ll freeze our ass to get back down without one single damned answer! Can you believe it?”

“Ha... n…” McCree panted. The dragon slithered down his rock making no sound in the snow and unveiling an ancient carved structure at its feet. McCree vaguely saw some inscription on the arched wall, but right now he was rather busy gaping at the dreadful creature stretching its neck behind Hanzo.

“All of this because I’m the unluckiest bastard ever - and you can’t deny it, Jess, you really can’t. Of course, it may be the punishment for my actions, and I would accept it, but isn’t it a bit too much? I…”

“Hanzo”, McCree said again in a small voice, pointing his shaking, ethereal finger behind Hanzo’s shoulders.

The elf frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What? Can’t I at least complain in peace? I’m sick and tired of this all!” he kicked at the snow, puffing a white cloud around him.

The dragon chose that moment to stretch its wings to their fullest. McCree acted before he could realize he was moving: he jumped forward and tackled Hanzo, hitting him hard in the stomach with his shoulder and catching him off guard. The elf let out a great “ _oof!_ ” and fell back in the snow with McCree on top of him, but he had no time to complain or even to catch his breath.

The dragon took off from the wall with a loud flapping of wings, and it glided so low the wind rose puffs of snow all around them. McCree kept his head low and his body over Hanzo’s, determined to offer all the protection he could, but Hanzo squirmed and shoved him away.

“What… what in Oblivion…” Hanzo panted; the impact had knocked the hood off his head, and now he was sitting in the snow with his hair tousled and his eyes as round as pebbles. McCree crawled on his knees and fumbled for his crossbow, but when the dragon landed a mere five feet or so from them he knew they were doomed.

Too near, too sudden, too fucking big.

The ground jumped at the impact with the four large, clawed paws, and the immense head was angular and covered in spikes - some as thick as McCree’s leg, many broken into splinters. The beast had milky eyes, but blind as they looked, they still scanned the two of them with ancient and brutal attention.

Hanzo, his hand shaking on the bow, kicked the snow and backed away. His lower lid twitched and he shook his head.

“No. This is too much”, he muttered, slipping as he tried to get on his feet. “I’m out”.

The dragon shook its head and snapped his jaws, revealing an impressive set of sharp, if chipped, fangs.

“Big. So big”, McCree whimpered, arms limp in his lap. They stood no chance against such a titan, and the Master of they Greybeards wasn’t even there to help them out.

But the dragon didn’t attack them. He walked in circles around them, leaving deep footprints in the snow, and stopped in front of Hanzo with its head tilted to the side.

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?"

The words made sense - most of them, at least, but McCree couldn’t catch their meaning. And this time he knew it was just because of his shock, and not some supernatural language he couldn’t understand. He blinked and stood helpless as the dragon inspected Hanzo. Not a beast, but a sentient, wise being.

He was the Master Arngeir talked of.

“Paarthurnax? You?” Hanzo cawed, scrambling to his feet with little grace. He shook his head, puffing out a cloud of steam in the chill hair, and a manic smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “No you’re not”.

“I am, joor. And I welcome you”. Paarthurnax bowed his head, bending his neck in an elegant arch.

McCree felt hysterical laughter bubble up his stomach and he bit his chapped lip to stop it from bursting out of his lips. He giggled in silence, shaking wildly as he tried to take in the entirety of the dragon. it was too much - he was too much, because such a creature sounded above the mere brutality of an animal.

“You’re a dragon”, Hanzo exhaled weakly.

Paathurnax let out a throbbing sound, and hadn’t it come from the chest of a dragon McCree would’ve called it a chuckle. But dragons didn’t chuckle, did they?

"I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you... Dovahkiin." The dragon stared intently at Hanzo, only to move his blind gaze to McCree. “But you’re not supposed to be here. You’re but a man”.

“A very stubborn man, yeah”, McCree said, eventually letting his eyebrows go back to their rightful place. “Ask the Greybeards. Ain’t gonna leave Han - er, the Dragonborn’s side”.

Hadn’t he seen it happen already, McCree wouldn’t have believed his own eyes - Paarthurnax smiled. It had nothing of the cruelty of Alduin’s grins, though: it was mischievous but gentle, like that of an old fox teasing the youngsters. Which was precisely what the dragon was doing.

“Ah, so many years of isolation made me forget how soft your species’ heart is. Bahlok, mir - us dov lack the word for what you’re feeling. So precious and rare it is…”

“I swear to Sithis if I’m to suffer another old being meddling with my sentimental life I’m going to scream - yes, he’s with me, thank you very much. But say it again. You… you’re Paarthurnax. The Master of the Greybeards”.

McCree had to admit he was quite happy when the dragon focused back on Hanzo. The creature sat on his back legs and crossed his wrists in a very polite fashion.

“I am. They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise”, he said, covering his mouth with his paw. He was the least human creature McCree had ever seen, and yet he had the same posture of a good mannered elder gentleman. “It is true I am old..."

Hanzo cautiously walked around Paarthurnax. McCree accepted his - not very steady, nor warm - hand and got up.

 _Yeah, no. Even from this point of view, that thing is still too big_ , he said to himself, looking up at Paarthurnax in a mix of fear and reverence. _But he hasn’t attacked us yet, so he won’t do that. Maybe. Please don’t._

He clung to Hanzo and draped a protective arm over his shoulders. Useless, but it helped comfort himself about his role in this bizarre conversation. Hanzo seemed to find strength in their contact and, despite his persistent look of utter distress, stared up at Paarthurnax.

“This conversation is getting long for my tastes. You know who I am, right?”

The dragon squinted and his white eyes wandered over Hanzo’s figure. Was he really seeing him, or did he perceive the world with something different than his eyes?

“Yes. Vahzah. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech”.

“Ah don’t worry, master dragon. I too tend to let my mouth run”, McCree said, oddly comforted by the confession. Somehow, it made Paarthurnax less alien - he was someone they could talk to, who enjoyed conversation and could get carried away.

“Very well. If you know who I am, then you know what…”

“Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov."

Hanzo’s nostrils flared with impatience and he stepped away from McCree. The Nightingale knew for sure his lover was about to lash out some of his rebuttals at the old dragon, but when he pointed his fingers at Paarthurnax his voice didn’t cooperate. Hanzo squealed and let his mouth dangle open in a curious mixture of confusion and respect.

When the dragon took a deep breath and stood on all fours, his long tail whipping the snow, the friendly impression vanished. Paarthurnax was once more imposing and terrifying, his voice that of skies and glaciers itself.

“By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!” he roared, and for a second - equally short and terrifying - the look on his scaly face resembled so much that of Alduin McCree recoiled in panic. Hanzo jerked with a quick spasm but didn’t make any attempt at arming himself, and so McCree had to trust his instinct. The elf stood in the snow, flushed and huffing white clouds, as the great dragon inhaled an impossible volume of air and turned to the inscription on the wall.

The roar coming from the creature’s lungs could’ve melted his knees, but McCree forced himself to stand still. He covered his face with his arm at the unexpected outburst of flames that erupted from Paarthurnax’s mouth. A cone of fire cut the snow in two and exploded against the wall, adding a red and yellow hue to the brightness of the day.

McCree backed away against Hanzo at such a clamorous display of power. And Hanzo, as if hypnotized by what he was seeing, didn’t move.

“Fire…”, he muttered.

“What?”

“Words. There are words - it’s a Shout, and…”

The flames died away and Paarthurnax looked at Hanzo once more.

“A gift, Dovahkiin. Yol. Understand Fire as the dov do”, and with the tip of his tail he pointed at the carved wall. There, visible even to McCree’s profane eyes, bright blue letters shone under the sun. He felt an intruder, an outsider looking into a world of legends he shouldn’t be allowed in, but Hanzo was with him. He caressed his hand as he walked away, called by the blue flames marking mysterious symbols in the stone, and McCree was very close to grab his arm and stop him. But Paarthurnax looked at him - for the first time seeing him, not just like an accessory at Hanzo’s side - and smiled.

It could have been horrifying with all those fangs and scales, but there was more than a hint of kindness in the colossus, and when Paarthurnax spoke his voice was low and soft.

“Don’t worry, joor. I too pursue peace after many cycles of war and violence. I wouldn’t hurt any of you”.

“You have no idea how much I’d like to believe you…”, and the rest of the phrase died in a gasp. Hanzo, his hands splayed on the frozen stone, was once more surrounded by a golden and purple light, not different from what had happened back in Whiterun. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Paarthurnax looked pleased.

"Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!"

McCree had an outburst of rationality and reflexes the moment Hanzo turned to the dragon. There was something new in his eyes, a sparkle of fire that disappeared the moment he closed his eyes. McCree jumped out of the way, far from both Paarthurnax and the elf.

The air, once more, filled with the preternatural weight of the Voice. Hanzo didn’t change - he was still a cold, exhausted figure wrapped in too many layers to make out his true shape - but his face relaxed. A deep breath, and what came out next was not a roar, but not even words. McCree squinted when the same column of fire burst from Hanzo’s mouth, bending and rippling the air around him in waves of heat.

But Hanzo was mortal, not several tons of winged monster. His Shout faded into a slow panting, and McCree forgot caution and ran to his help. Tired, Hanzo gladly accepted to be taken in his arms.

“That… was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do, darlin’. And you do cool things on a daily basis!”

Hanzo coughed and almost laughed, and McCree briefly kissed his head, rubbing caresses on his back until he was steady again.

"Ah, yes! Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind”. Paarthurnax, delighted, coiled around them and placed his head near Hanzo, looking up with wise, spry eyes.

“Not exactly your kind but… thank you, I guess”. Hanzo shivered and regained a more dignified position. With Paarthurnax so near it was not cold anymore, and he and McCree opened their cloaks. “I’m here to… mph. It’s a long story, actually”.

“Time is not an issue for the dov. And it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper word with someone worth my time…”

McCree felt the tension melt away from his limbs. Whatever Paarthurnax was, and this included a several dozen of feet long flying lizard, a master of the Voice and a refined speaker, apparently he was not an enemy. Relaxing in such a situation seemed impossible, but he couldn’t stop himself: he sat with a wet plot in the snow and almost gave in to leaning against the dragon’s tail.

"So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor... mortal. Even for one of Dovah Sos. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?"

Hanzo visibly let go of the last of his doubts. McCree could only imagine the relief at the realization that here, in front of him, was the only creature who could provide him the answers he needed.

“I… need to learn a Shout. you must know it, of course, and it’s vital for… for our quest. It’s called Dragonrend, but the Greybeards don’t know it and… and…”

How frail and vulnerable he looked, rushing words in the urgency of doing something good. McCree wanted to take him in his arms once more, but maybe it was not the right time.

Paarthurnax weighted his request for a long time, and eventually sighed. He leaned his chin to his front paws and shook his head.

“Ah. I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin."

“Well… yes”, Hanzo said simply.

“You’re asking me to teach you how to destroy the World Eater. My own brother”.

There was no accusation in his tone, but the words were enough to strike Hanzo like arrows. He stiffened at once and his eyes opened wide; McCree jumped up and took his wrists - comfort and control at the same time.

“Your… brother”.

“My elder brother he is, yes. And hungry, eager, cruel”. He sighed with the sadness only an immortal being could gather in millennia. He quickly recollected himself and squinted at Hanzo. “But tell me, Dovahkiin, why do you want to learn this Thu’um, this Shout?”

“B-But I’ve told you already, I need to stop Alduin, and…”

“Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn; I daresay you know something about it, am I right? But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

McCree saw a flow of reasons dance on Hanzo’s face. He knew some of them, but others were mysteries; he squeezed his hand and gave him an encouraging nod.

“Because… I seek redemption. And there’s some good in this world, something worth fighting for, even if I’m the most unlikely champion that’s ever existed”. He reciprocated McCree’s gesture and his hand, cold and strong, tightened against the other’s. “I don’t want this to end”.

Paarthurnax seemed mildly satisfied with the answer.

“Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

This snapped something in Hanzo’s always barely contained temper.

“Look, Paarthurnax”, he said, taking a step toward the dragon and dragging McCree along, “I don’t really care about philosophy. I’ll give you that, you’re a pleasant change from your dragon companions, but I’m here for Dragonrend, and…”

“Ha! You have much to learn of the dov, then. There is nothing else but philosophy to a dovah. It is no accident that we do battle with our Thu'um, our Voices. There is no distinction between debate and combat to a dragon. Tinvaak los grah. For us it is one and the same”.

“I’m gettin’ a headache”, McCree said, massaging his temples.

“Still,  you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven – what you name Throat of the World?"

His tone was so similar to that of a patient teacher asking his pupil to undergo a creative reasoning that, if he closed his eyes, McCree could almost forget he was a pale reptile that could’ve swallowed them whole. And keeping his eyes closed helped his headache, too, so he squeezed them shut for a moment.

“I don’t know, you… you’re too big to live in the woods? I suppose your wings could get caught into branches and so on. You probably like it here, it suits you?” Hanzo said tentatively. He didn’t sound convincing, though.

“True”, Paarthurnax chuckled. “But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad... perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated".

McCree forgot his discomfort for a moment and opened his eyes.

“Wait, here? You mean… _here_?” and he stomped his foot in the snow a couple of times.

Paarthurnax nodded solemnly. Suddenly the bare landscape around them, all protruding rocks and white dunes, didn’t feel just empty and distant, but mystical - dangerous. Hanzo was probably undergoing the same thoughts, because he stared at the Throat of the World with renewed respect and interest.

“Here. The Tongues killed Alduin here already… and I’m just one Dragonrend away from...“

“Yes and no”, Paarthurnax interrupted him. “Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to... _defeat_ him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time."

Hanzo pouted, back in the moment and rather pissed off.

“I don’t get it”.

The dragon rubbed his scaly chin in his claws and snorted briefly.

“Hmm. How to explain in your tongue? The dov have words for such things that joorre do not. It is... an artifact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Rah wahlaan. They are...hmm... fragments of creation. The Kelle... Elder Scrolls, as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Yes, your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But this is only a small part of their power. Zofaas suleyk”.

“Wait, so they… it’s the Tongues’ fault! They sent Alduin here!” McCree pointed out, his migraine worsening at once.

“Not intentionally”, Paarthurnax corrected him. “Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when”.

“But what am I supposed to do now? I ask and ask, and with every answer come a thousand more questions, and I stray from the solution even more! This is frustrating!” Hanzo growled, pulling at his own hair.

“This is all the help I can provide you with, Dovahkiin”, Paarthurnax said, a bit sadly. “But it’s not in vain. Tiid krent. Time was... shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here... to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound... With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to... cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it”.

Hanzo swayed dangerously, and McCree quickly caught him before he could fall. Still, he wasn’t very stable himself, so they both slid on their knees in a shaky, shocked mess.

Dragons were bad enough - fuck, they were too bad already! But this crazy idea of leaving the present for a different time, a dive into the past, was pure nonsense. Tension wrought a mirthless chuckle from McCree’s lips, as Hanzo stood frozen, panting lightly.

“And how are we to find such a Scroll? Yer askin’ for something - I dunno, mythical? It’s… it’s beyond our chances, and…”

But Paarthurnax only narrowed his eyes. He stared at McCree first, then at Hanzo.

“You are strong in the way of - mph - finding things. I sense it. You know people and how to open doors. Do you really think there’s no place in Skyrim where ancient knowledge is preserved and studied?”

The dragon unrolled around them, and the moment he trotted away, ridiculously ungraceful on his massive body and sturdy legs, the mountain became impossibly cold again. He climbed up the wall where the words of the Shout had been and twisted his long neck to give Hanzo, now trembling on his feet, a curious look.

“You’re strong, Dovahkiin, and angry. May your fire bring you wisdom”.

He spread his wings and jumped from rocks and into the sky, and with a roar, he flew away. A big shadow against the blue, and one last call thundering around them.

“Find it. Find it and come back”, Paarthurnax growled from the distance. And then he was gone, no bigger than a crow.

The wind rose again, and Hanzo shivered against McCree, who quickly wrapped his arms around him, mostly to comfort himself.

They stood like this, not daring to move, until cold stepped in place of confusion. Hanzo shook his head and turned to look at McCree.

“Please, tell me you have an idea, because I’m groping in the dark here”.

McCree stared at the horizon, gathering his wits.

He had no clue where the Elder Scroll was, but he grasped for every one of Paarthurnax’s words.

A place for ancient knowledge. Maybe one the Guild had a contact in, someone who could work for them, even better if they owed them a favor.

He couldn’t smile, his face frozen in fear, but he nodded once.

“I have. But it’s not something we can do on our own”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, beautiful people. Did I ever mention that Paarthurnax is one of the best things ever in the world? Because I'm doing it now. Screw you Delphine.  
> There's probably (who am I kidding? I know what's next) more angst to come, so be ready because now shit is getting real. Like, *for real*.
> 
> Luv you all, and if you haven't already, come find me on tumblr @valpur.


	12. Zein arkh men

“ _Are you sure?_ ” McCree screamed in the wind.

The entrance to the ruins gaped black in front of them, an open gash in the icy surface of the mountain. Hanzo grabbed the damp ropes badly serving as railings and tried to stabilize himself on the wooden bridge; every gust of wind made it swing dangerously and, even if the sky was clear, blew clouds of snowflakes into a white mist. All in all, Hanzo was very determined not to look at the gorge opening under his feet.

“No I’m not”, he yelled back. McCree was near, but the howling around them was so loud it swallowed his words. “I had no idea about what we’re doing for the last months”, he grumbled. He tentatively took another step forward, and the boards creaked under his feet. The gaps in the wood showed a rather terrifying view of the abyss of ice and rocks at the bottom of the valley.

He held his breath and covered the distance to the cave, allowing himself a shiver of relief when he eventually stood on the solid safety of the stone ledge. He placed an unsteady hand on the frozen wall and relaxed his shoulders a bit, and then some more when McCree circled his waist with his arm.

“We did it this far”, he said in a hoarse voice, his warm breath melting the tension from Hanzo’s skin. “Yer not alone, darlin’”, he added with a smirk. Hanzo let himself be pulled in for a quick kiss and enjoyed the heat from McCree’s body until he was sure he wasn’t shaking anymore.

“I know”, he whispered, tucking his chilled hands under the other’s cloak. When he looked in McCree’s eyes he, too, couldn’t but smile despite the cold and the unknown awaiting them. “And by the way, I’m the one who should ask if you’re sure. It’s your folk who spoke to the College after all…”

He remembered those days all too well. If having some time to spend with McCree in the relative safety of Riften was a blessing he held close to his heart, waiting for one of Reyes’ associates to find their snitch in Winterhold had been an agony. First, he didn’t like or trust Moira at all - those uncanny, mismatched eyes and her thin smile were too knowing and cunning for his tastes, and Genji had been overly loquacious about her methods - and the weeks she spent on the road had made him question her loyalty more than once. And when Moira had appeared back to the Ragged Flagon, with her pale face lightly reddened by the late spring sun, the answers she’d provided had caused him more doubts than certainties. Now, after an extenuating march up the mountains, Alftand welcomed them with its icy breath, and all Hanzo could count on was a sphere Moira assured him was a key. To where he had no idea.

Oh, that, and the imposing Nord now shielding from the wind. And this was enough of a comfort to made his concerns pale in comparison.

He took a deep breath that made his lung sting and slowly untangled from McCree.

“We should go now. My ears are freezing, and the Elder Scroll isn’t going to retrieve itself”.

McCree curtly bowed his head and flicked his fingers, creating a small quivering light on his palm. He was the first to enter the cave, and for a while, as they made their way on the slippery path, Hanzo could see nothing but the towering shadow in front of him. All around were but blueish slabs of ice, and Hanzo’s reflection trembled in the magic light.

Despite his constant state of fear and doubt, Hanzo felt a sting of excitement as they ventured deeper into the mountain’s womb. Adventure awaited, and even if him being part of this grand scheme was all out of casualty he was called for something bigger than just being a hired thug. He had purpose, he was not alone indeed - and maybe he could make up for some of his past wrongs.

Hanzo was so lost in his thoughts that he let out a muffled groan when his face hit McCree’s back. He stumbled and muttered a curse - hell, his nose was so cold even the gentlest of bumps hurt - and then, on the tip of his toes, tried to peek from McCree’s shoulder.

“What’s happening?” he said. He didn’t even realize he was whispering until his voice echoed softly under the low ceiling.

“We’re not the first to come here”, McCree hissed back. He moved to the side, and Hanzo saw the remains of a crude camping site. A broken lantern, a threadbare bedroll still, and lying on it, the stiff corpse of a khajiit. Ice had turned his open eyes into sparkling crystals and covered his whiskers in a thin white layer. The open wound on his chest was dry.

In silence, Hanzo slid an arrow from the quiver and nocked it in - just in case.

“If dead bodies are all we’re to expect from this trip, then color me satisfied”, he said, but McCree didn’t share his cynical humor.

“One doesn’t die spontaneously from a stab wound. Better keep our eyes open, there’s a murderer here…”

“Two”, Hanzo corrected him, and McCree frowned at him. “There’s me, too”.

“Oh, honey, stop it”, he chuckled, resuming his walk.

Soon, the natural architecture of the cave morphed into something different - brass-looking pipes and wheels, inscribed tables covered in gears Hanzo couldn’t recognize, gates and at least five different kinds of traps McCree was quick to disarm.

“What’s this place?” Hanzo breathed out in awe.

“Never been to a Dwemer ruin, honeybee?” McCree asked as he checked on a pale pink gem from a dusty shelf. He inspected it with professional attention, then shrugged and slipped it in his pocket. “Impressive business. Visited some back in my early days with the Guild, and around every corner, you can either find a hidden treasure or some Dwemer mechanical critter tryin’ to kill you. Never a dull moment”.

“I miss having dull moments”, Hanzo said, casting an inquiring look all around. They’d gone pretty deep down the path, but nothing they’d ran into seemed constructed to hold something as important and dangerous as the Elder Scroll.

Time stopped making sense as they explored further. Hanzo knew it had been hours - his legs were starting to get sore from the exertion - but the only light they could count on came from their spells and McCree’s magical hand. It was quiet, but nothing like a tomb: the ice creaked and moaned all around them, and here and there the rhythmic sound of water droplets whispered in the void. The supposed murder Hanzo mentioned before appeared after some time, another khajiit as dead as the previous one, with reddened teeth and a horrible sneer on his lips.

"Skooma", McCree said, shaking his head. "We can't do anything for him". And Hanzo agreed: he turned his back to the corpse and moved on.

Once they walked on a shattered automaton that looked like a spider; McCree spent so much time studying it - “See? This is what I was talkin’ ‘bout. Nasty lil’ bastards, I shit you not” - Hanzo started to feel restless. Arms crossed over his chest, he tapped his foot on the ground.

“Amazing. May I remind you we’re on a quest to retrieve something that sounds ripped from a legend, and not to waste our time getting excited about Dwemer engineering?”

“Said the livin’ legend himself”, McCree snorted with a grin. He slid the tip of his dagger under one of the spider’s gears and gave a sharp turn, thus freeing an intricate structure of golden rings and gems. The thief got up and winked at Hanzo. “Pardon me if I have some side jobs to carry on…”

And to be completely honest, Hanzo had a hard time denying him anything when he smiled at him like that. He shook his head and gestured to the halls waiting for them down the way.

“Whatever. If you’re done we could…”

In the silence, something clicked. Hanzo bit his tongue and stared at McCree.

The sound came from nowhere in particular, a scratching coming from the depths of the stone walls. But such walls were nothing but solid rocks, with only some old decorative round plates covered in rust and ice here and there.

“... what was that?” Hanzo’s voice, in a puff of white steam, sounded tense. McCree casually armed his crossbow, shaking his head.

“I’ll be damned if I knew”, McCree replied, looking around and shifting his finger on the trigger.

The metallic noises - tinkling, scratching, sliding behind the walls and _inside_ them - were approaching. Hanzo lifted his bow and turned on his heels, trying to follow the stream of the growing cacophony to no avail. The rumbling grew stronger, to the point that the carcass of the Dwemer spider trembled on the ground.

“Whatever it is, it’s coming”, Hanzo hissed. And the louder the noise, the more thundering his heartbeat became. He didn’t feel cold anymore: a sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead at the sudden danger.

McCree, his back against Hanzo’s, tensed, and his breath came out in a sharp growl. Hanzo felt such nervousness seep through his skin; the bowstring quivered in his fingers, and he looked up.

“What in Oblivion is… oh!”

The clamor died at once, but the mountain was far from quiet. Hanzo squinted at the wall, where the brass decorations started to shake.

Apparently, they were not decorations at all. The smooth surface jumped in its studded frame, and the plates opened slowly with a twirling movement. McCree moved to Hanzo’s side and took a tentative step toward the wall, where a circular opening was now piercing the stones. As far as Hanzo could see, the hole was empty.

“I don’t get it. What’s that?” McCree asked, frowning and leaning forward a bit.

A sudden clang made them both jump and back away, weapons at the ready. A bronze sphere, its surface engraved in runes Hanzo couldn’t decipher, appeared in the opening, making its way out of the hole without a squeak. It literally bloomed from the wall, a ball as wide as Hanzo’s chest. It swiftly rolled out and landed with a thud, and in a second a similar clamor announced the appearance of a similar object behind their backs.

In precarious balance on their own curve, the two spheres stood still, weird and creepy in the complete silence of the ruins.

McCree lowered his crossbow and moved to inspect them closer.

“Have you ever encountered such a thing in your explorations?” Hanzo asked, half hoping McCree would reassure him they were nothing to worry about.

McCree shook his head and crouched, poking at the sphere with his dart.

“Never. But they don’t look threatening, I think?”

“They don’t look anything at all”. Hanzo, struggling somewhere between fear and curiosity, toed at the other artifact with the tip of his boot.

Which proved to be the most perfectly wrong idea ever: something clicked inside the sphere, and Hanzo jumped back.

The metal plates shifted one on the other, opening to reveal long, articulated arms as sharp as blades. What just a moment before was nothing but a harmless - if odd - carved ball, now burst to life in a steam-pumping, clanging whirlwind of swords and sharp points.

“Tell me again, what don’t they look like?” Hanzo growled. He jumped to the side to avoid the first thrust; the blade hit the rocks instead, bursting a firework of sparkles in the air.

_Shit, that thing’s fast!_

The lower part of the sphere was still round, allowing it to roll at amazing speed with impressively fast turns of direction.

“Threatenin’, alright? I said threatenin’! And I was wrong!” McCree’s voice faded under the din of a dart, shot right to the core of the second Dwemer sphere. Hanzo dodged yet another strike and glided away, now distant enough to try his luck with an arrow. Somewhere behind him, McCree was cursing at the top of his lungs, switching to his daggers for a more direct approach, and then going for some well-placed kicks instead. Hanzo hit the mark, and tiny electric shocks sparkled from the core of the sphere. A couple of metallic parts fell from his opponent, but the damned thing was charging again, crippled but not significantly slowed down.

He reloaded, and no matter how much he needed to check on McCree to see how he was doing (fine, since the volume of his curses didn’t lower, while the wheezing of the sphere was now growing erratic), he had a still very functioning enemy to focus on. He ducked his head right in time to avoid a metal spike that flashed where his left eye used to be. A burning pain slashed his cheekbone and ear, and the faint smell of blood ignited his anger. Ignoring the light wound, he dropped his bow and unsheathed his dagger. It looked too short, nearly useless in his hand, but the position was ideal: he let his arm fall to one of the sphere’s joints and the point pierced some kind of delicate gears. A twist of his wrist, and the artifact’s arm clanged to the ground.

One less to worry about.

“Well, fuck”, McCree panted. His own opponent rattled out smoke, slower and more unstable. “Gotta admit it, those… those Dwemers - rot to hell, you rusty piece of garbage!” and he kicked the sphere away. “They knew their shit”.

Hanzo caught a glimpse of his sweaty face, a red line of blood dripping down his chin, then the sphere attacked him again. That long, ridiculous dance was tiring him, so he let go of any form of sophistication and went for a more direct approach. He briefly closed his eyes, exploiting the momentary distance from the sphere, and fumbled for a spell. Flames against a metal armored enemy? Unlikely. A lightning bolt? Worse, even.

Time was running out, and McCree was crying out his name as if from another world.

But another voice was rumbling in his mind. Deeper, slower, more ancient.

Paarthurnax called him.

_Dovahkiin_.

Not a spell flashed in his memory, but words. Blue and flaming, carved in his soul and fed the essence of an actual dragon.

He didn’t hesitate. A deep breath, and when he opened his eyes the whole cave sparkled in gold and purple. And such light radiated from the core of his being.

He Shouted. Determined, sure, he let the Thu’um erupt from his chest and invade the air.

_Fus Ro Dah_

The sheer brutal force of his voice lifted the sphere in the air and threw it against the wall, several feet behind it. It landed with a booming crash and shattered into a rainfall of splinters, and Hanzo swayed as his vision blurred. Before his knees gave way, though, he found himself wrapped in strong arms that held him upright.

“Sweetheart, look at me - how are you? Damn, yer bleedin’, are you…”

Hanzo gladly surrendered to McCree’s embrace, but soon his forces returned and he stopped the other’s concerned words with a kiss and a nod.

“It worked, did you see that? I… shouted that thing to the wall! It was great, it was…”

_Exactly what Ulfric did to the High King._

The momentary triumph turned bitter in his mouth, but McCree didn’t seem to notice. He just ran an ethereal fingertip on his cheekbone, tracing the line of fire that throbbed under the scratch.

“I don’t think it’s anything serious”, he said, thoroughly controlling Hanzo’s conditions. When he tilted the elf’s head to the side and tucked a black strand behind his ear, though, a strangled noise escaped his lips. “Oh, no… the blighted thing took a bit off your ear…”

Hanzo roused and pinched the pointy tip between his fingers. Slippery with blood, there was indeed a small indenture on the side. Right now, he couldn’t care less.

“Does it contribute to my - how would you call it? - _sexy tortured look?”_

Adrenaline was still rushing through him and made his voice bubbly with laughter. McCree snorted and licked his split lip.

“D’you want to rest a bit?”

Tempting as it was, Hanzo sighed and shook his head, leaving McCree’s arms.

“No, I want to be out of here as soon as possible”. He walked the hall to retrieve his arrows and stuck them back in the quiver.

“Yer still the prettiest, by the way…”

“Flatterer”, he chuckled, calling McCree with his hand and resuming their path.

The Dwemer ruins extended apparently to the core of Tamriel itself, because after long hours crawling in the dark they were still struggling with ice and copper relics - with an unpleasant addition.

The Falmer appeared when both Hanzo and McCree were too tired to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. Surprisingly enough, McCree didn’t even notice at first, too busy walking with his shoulder hunched and his head low; all that time burning magicka to keep his hand functioning were tiring him, but he didn’t dare to let it go in case of a fight.

It was Hanzo’s turn to keep the light on, and he, too, was quickly losing the last of his energies. His footsteps weren’t as steady or swift, his eyes as attentive, but something deep inside him roused to life when a faraway chirping sound rolled on the stones. His ears flicked up and he froze, his hand raised to open yet another massive metal door at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

McCree stumbled upon him and stopped with a frown.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked, his usual good humor gone in favor of a grumpy exhausted look. “Can’t we just…”

Hanzo slapped his hand on McCree’s mouth. Finger pressed against his own lips, he stared at him wide-eyed and begged him to be silent. The confusion faded from McCree’s face and he reciprocated Hanzo’s gaze. Barely daring to breathe, Hanzo let his hand fall and crouched by the door, placing his ear against the cold metal. The magic light flickered one last time and went out.

Now that the ice and gravel weren’t creaking under their feet anymore, the sound was clearer.

“Some creature”, McCree breathed against him, and Hanzo scowled to listen more attentively. Yes, it was the hissing and chattering of some sort of animal, and when he cautiously pushed the door ajar with his foot, a sliver of violent orange light blazed on the metal.

Fire - no, not really, he realized, but the dancing flames of several torches. He forced his foot in the opening and pushed the door a little more, allowing himself - and McCree, perched on his shoulder with his crossbow at the ready - a full view of the next room.

There were three of them, twisted pale creatures with a vague resemblance to a human being - to an elf, but ruined, distorted, with little to no flesh on their bones and faces that showed no trace of emotion. Hunger, just hunger, primal and absolute in their small faded eyes. They were squatted among crude attempts at tents, the weapons hanging by their scrawny hips dark and rudimental.

Hanzo backed away immediately, using the last of his wits to stop the door from slamming shut.

He knew those things. He’d never visited a Dwemer settlement before, but when he was still a Shimada, noble and well educated, he’d studied the story of his people, and with it the legends about the snow elves.

All was left of their legacy, betrayed and imprisoned, poisoned into madness, were the falmer.

He turned to McCree in the darkness and evoked a sparkled on his palm.

_Three,_ he signaled in silence. McCree took a deep breath, one dart already loaded, a second one between his teeth.

_Let’s go,_ the thief said with his eyes.

Although he had no idea how great a threat the falmer posed, Hanzo knew their only chance of success was a surprise attack.

The arrow hissed between his fingers and locked in place, the bowstring singing its desire for blood. He briefly closed his eyes to gather all his concentration, then looked at McCree once more.

_Ready_ , said his determined expression, every trace of fatigue gone from his dark eyes.

And ready they had to be.

With a wordless prayer to whatever divine would have listened to him, Hanzo kicked the door open.

The bang from the door immediately alerted the falmer, and three pairs of pupilless eyes darted on him.

The first creature dropped dead before it could stand up, with McCree’s dart deep into his skull, right where the nose should have been. Hanzo quickly released his shot, barely squinting in the blazing light and aiming at the nearest falmer. The arrow found its way in the skinny chest, and the falmer fell on his back reeling pathetically.

The remaining one let out an ear-piercing shriek, baring a full set of thin, sharp fangs before charging toward them.

Hanzo’s reflexes, though, were faster. Another arrow flew in the air and sunk in the falmer's thigh; the creature howled in pain and staggered, but its knees never met the icy ground: McCree finished him with one last, precise shot, and when the body collapsed with a light thud, the only remaining sound was the panting of the dying monster.

Hanzo stepped into the bright light, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the flames, and cautiously reached the falmer. There was nothing to save, and his arrow had only shortened the suffering of a beast who’d lost his heart already at the Dwemer’s cruelty. Still, the falmer fought death with every harsh breath, his hands clawing at the rocks, blood and saliva bubbling through his gritted teeth. Hanzo kicked the sword away and crouched at his side, pushing the arrow deeper through cold flesh and dry bones. One final twist, and the agonizing noises died out.

“Those…” McCree’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Those are falmer. Never met one before, and I liked it how it was”.

Hanzo pulled the arrow out with a crunching noise and flicked it to get rid of the black blood.

“Nor did I, but it’s not a good sign. There will be more”.

McCree retrieved his darts and hastily cleaned them on his pants.

“Ain’t gonna fight a whole horde of those things, so…”

“They’re not _things_. They were elves, and I can barely imagine what kind of tortures they had to endure before turning into this”, he said, sadder than he’d thought, staring down at the nearest corpse.

“We’ll have time for this tale once we’re back home. Still, I’d rather not try my luck with a full pack”. Once more he looked dangerous, his mouth set to a hard line and his eyes shadowed by his hair. “How lightly can you tread?”

_Very_ lightly, Hanzo thought as they proceeded even further. He made no sound, sliding like a shadow on the rocks under more torches. Traces of falmer presence were everywhere - piles of dirt and rubbish, attempts at fences dangling with rotting pelts, even a dead bug, as big as a pony. The sight made McCree gasp and go very pale; he walked around the carcass, with its armored stomach exposed and slashed open to show a disgusting greenish goo, making sure no part of his body touched the exoskeleton.

Soon after, they encountered an old iron grating, its bars mostly collapsed; behind it, a pile of debris half covered a tall structure, with more gates encircling a large staircase. There were statues on a platform midway up the steps, golden giants with mechanical bodies and impassible carved masks, but Hanzo didn’t really care for them - not when a fully occupied falmer camp stood in the way. Impossible to miss, he still grabbed McCree’s wrist and pulled him down with him behind a collapsed column. It was risky, and he was aware that a nearly blind creature like a falmer probably compensated with oversensitive ears and noses, but there were too many for them to fight.

McCree agreed before the words were even spoken. He leaned closer and placed his lips at Hanzo’s still throbbing ear.

“We go round the camp”, he breathed out. “They must not see us”.

_And if they do, we’re screwed_ , Hanzo thought, grim.

The next move put their courage to the test. It could’ve been a matter of minutes or hours, or even a lifetime, because as he crawled by the damp wall, scratching his hand and shoulder against the coarse surface, Hanzo forgot how to keep track of time. He led the way, weighing every single step and panting under his breath as sweat drenched his forehead despite the cold. The air was thick with the animalistic sounds of the falmer, and he counted twelve of them before realizing it was only going to make his panic worse. McCree followed him, or so Hanzo hoped, because indeed the Nightingale was so silent it could’ve been anywhere but in his trail; only when they reached a stone spike, somewhere midway through the terrifying path, he crouched for a moment and looked behind him.

The rusty grate was far - too far to make a run for their lives, had the falmer spotted them - as was the platform they were heading for. Any mistake now meant death, but when he caught a glimpse of McCree’s face in the cold light of the camping site he remembered he was not allowed the luxury of fear. McCree, his hood pulled on his head, his eyes but a glimmer in the shadows, would’ve been in danger had Hanzo made the wrong step, and this he couldn’t accept. A deep breath, a mere second to acknowledge that his body was still cooperating despite their long ordeal, and he slithered further on. He knew that too many pale eyes kept on lingering on them, unable to see their movements while they stood out of the lights, and his hand was sweaty and slippery around his bow.

As if in a dream, or a nightmare populated with monsters he couldn’t but pity, Hanzo covered the remaining distance to the Dwemer structure. When his feet eventually landed on solid marble, and not on the greasy ground around the falmer tents, the relief was so intense it made him dizzy. McCree joined him in a second, and he, too, leaned his back against a column to catch his breath.

The falmer pack was still hissing and chirping beneath them, but having the high ground provided a small measure of safety. For now, at least. Hanzo blew out a long, slow lungful of air and gathered his energies.

Yes, if he had to be entirely honest, the place they’d landed to wasn’t less creepy or uncanny than what they’d left: at the two sides of the platform, the statues were staring down at them with dead shiny eyes in stoic golden faces. They were impressive, Hanzo noted, twice as tall as him and with their chest sparkling with intricate gears and plates around what looked a lot like one of the gems McCree had been pocketing. Only, this one was as big as a human head.

He was so deep into his exploration that he barely noticed when McCree moved behind him. He, too, went to examine the statue, but Hanzo didn’t pay him much attention.

_Curious_ , he thought. _These things aren’t covered in dust._

The gears looked perfectly oiled, not rusty as a good part of the ruins they’d run into.

Terror peaked. The only not dusty things they’d seen since they’d entered Alftand were those that still moved. The spheres had been clean and functioning, and…

A loud click made every hair on his body rise in sudden horror. He sharply turned around and saw McCree with his arm elbow-deep into the statue’s chest. Tongue between his teeth, the thief rummaged through the gears and around the gem.

Hanzo felt his body go numb with cold shock, and he shot forward before his brain could understand what was going on.

His arms went around McCree’s waist and tackled him to the ground. McCree let out a strangled noise at the impact, and then a louder grunt of pain when his arm was forcibly snatched from the statue.

They fell in a tangled mess of limbs, and when the rustling and creaking of their armors died down Hanzo stood up and stared at McCree, dumbstruck.

“Are you kidding me?” he hissed, angry beyond measure.

“No, are you? Remember what my job is?” McCree grunted, shaking his head. Before Hanzo could insist with another furious reply, though, there was a moment of silence.

Of utter, deep, complete silence.

The falmer had stopped humming.

Hanzo and McCree locked eyes, their brief disagreement forgotten. They stood motionless, half laying one on the other, and held their breath.

_They heard us_ , Hanzo thought frantically. _They heard us and soon will swarm over us and we’ll die a horrible death maimed by those creatures._

McCree trembled under him and closed his eyes in horrified resignation, his hands gripping Hanzo’s arms.

And then, as quick as it had gone off, the background noise resumed. McCree turned his head to the camp, and Hanzo mirrored his gesture: the falmer were back to their usual tasks, moving like lopsided crabs around the fires and grunting at each other.

Hanzo bit his fist so hard his teeth left indentures in the leather to silence a hysterical fit of giggles. He rolled off McCree, who was having a similarly hard time keeping a straight face. They stared at each other, and it was only worse, because Hanzo felt his chest heave with laughter he needed to restrain.

The loud _clack_ from the perimeter of the platform killed their moment of hilarity in a single shot. With a gasp, Hanzo jumped to his feet and readied his bow, and no matter how quick McCree was to join him - this was where their journey ended.

And actually it looked like it was going to end with fireworks, because the two statues slowly came to life with a loud clamor of grinding metal and an explosion of sparkles. Hanzo ogled at the massive arms snatching themselves free from the sconces, the long, thick legs puffing steam and flexing to take slow steps out of their niches. Where the colossal feet stomped to the ground, cracks appeared in the marble.

Back to himself, Hanzo tried his luck and shot one single arrow. The shaft shattered into useless splinters against the armored giant, and he growled in frustration.

The metamorphosis of the guardians ended with a crunching noise - and the falmer exploded into a chorus of beastly howls and roars.

“Fuck”, Hanzo said, paralyzed with terror. A short-lived stasis, though, because McCree darted toward him and took his arm, dragging him along in a desperate run.

“Come!” he shouted, but Hanzo shook his head and stood his ground.

“I won’t run from a fight, I’ve told you alrea - McCree! Put me down immediately!” he yelped as his feet left the ground. He almost dropped his bow trying to get McCree to let go of him, but the arms around his waist were too strong.

“Shut up, you daredevil of an elf”, the thief snapped back, unceremoniously throwing Hanzo over his shoulder and running up the last flight of stairs without any significant modification in his pace.

“Put me down I said! You can’t keep me from a…”

“... a suicidal idiocy, that’s it! And stop kicking!”

From his undignified position, Hanzo saw the two Dwemer statues close their fists, and had there been any human flesh on their faces they’d have shown confusion - a horde of falmer, way more than Hanzo had counted in the first place, was crawling up the stairs and gates, shrieking and drooling and baring their sharp fangs. The statues seemed to ponder what to attack first, and then decided together that Hanzo and McCree were more interesting.

Hanging upside down from McCree’s shoulder, Hanzo looked up and saw the guardians march toward them in unrelenting steps, and behind them, a tide of white screaming creatures.

Suddenly, all his pride seemed a really bad idea. He punched McCree’s back in sheer panic.

“Faster! They’re coming at us!”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” He grunted back, jumping the last three steps and landing with a bounce that squished Hanzo’s stomach.

Not a good point of view, that of the dead weight being carried around: Hanzo couldn’t see their destination, only the impending doom.

He briefly considered shutting the last gate they crossed, but the metal bars seemed to thin to resist such a massive attack, and he was running out of ideas. It was then, when all hope (and dignity) were forfeited, that McCree came to a stumbling halt.

“Hanzo, the key!”

“What key?” He yelled back.

“My pouch, the one on the left - no no no, _my_ left, my left!”, he said in a high pitched voice. “Take it!”

Hanzo was in no position to question his judgment, so he blindly patted any part of McCree he could reach.

“That’s… my butt!”

“I know your butt pretty well, thank you very much! I can’t find the sphere!”

The moving statues were crossing the gate and were but some dozen feet from them.

“The lil' ball Moira brought from Winterhold! Come on you can’t miss it, it’s rather…”

“Found it!” Hanzo said triumphantly, pulling his hand out of McCree’s pocket and holding a metal sphere.

“Oh, thank the Shadows! Give me here… no, here, hurry!”

“Just turn around and point me to the lock, for fuck’s sake!”

He was well past the point of caring, so he didn’t object when McCree twirled on his heels and turned around.

The lock was not a lock at all, more like a sculpted column with a round head and a slot exactly the size of the sphere. He tried to lock it into place, but it was not easy when he was being juggled around like this.

“Hanzo, pumpkin…”

“I’m trying! Don’t move!”

“I’m sorry to disturb you but they’re really near!”

“As if I didn’t know!” Hanzo panted. And he knew indeed, overly conscious of the approaching screeches and rumbling. He tried to put the key in the hole, but at the last moment it slipped from his grip and fell.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

He felt McCree growl and tremble under him as the sphere bounced on the edge of the lock. Once, twice. It balanced itself on the column, and Hanzo’s shout of frustration and horror joined the chaos from their pursuers.

The ball rolled once and fell.

Right into the hole.

Hanzo had no time to realize what was happening. He was starting to breathe in the foul smell of corruption from the falmer when the floor shook and danced under McCree.

Next things he knew, the thief cried out a very creative curse against at least five Divines and four Daedra princes, and then pain and darkness.

Somewhere during their fall - because this was the last of Hanzo’s certainties: they were falling in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs and weapons, and he couldn’t see anything - he lost the simple notion of where his body ended and McCree's started, and not in a sensual way.

He landed badly on a hard edge, and his foot hit something softer than stone. McCree, probably, because his howling turned into a choked whimper. A pointy appendage - a knee? An elbow? - caught Hanzo straight on the nose, and the last of their not exactly epic flight ended on the notes of blood filling his mouth.

But eventually, after a long series of what felt like steps and many blasphemies, they reached a horizontal surface. Hanzo first, and McCree fell on top of him, crushing his chest and taking his breath away.

And again, not in a sensual way.

Hanzo panted, his unfocused eyes staring at the place where the ceiling was supposed to be. The tiles of the floor above their heads shuffled and clicked closed, shutting their enemies out - or maybe them in.

The grinding noises around them faded, and even the cacophony from outside turned to a distant muffled buzzing. Other than that, all Hanzo could feel was pain.

“J-Jesse…” he rasped, cautiously moving his limbs - they were all throbbing with bruised, but they seemed intact.

“Ugh”, was the strangled reply. Fortunately, McCree too seemed to still possess most of his physical skills, because with one last grunt he slid off Hanzo, and after a moment their familiar magic light was sparkling between them.

Hanzo sat up and spat a mouthful of blood; when he looked st McCree he saw that he too was bleeding, the wound on his lip split open and a brand new one cut his eyebrow on half; his eye was swelling out already.

“Jesse, you are… you are hurt”, Hanzo said in a small voice. He traced the line of his cheekbone and temple with a finger and shivered, but McCree chuckled.

“We made it. Again”.

“We made it indeed. Sorry if I…”

“No need to. Let’s get out of here, then I have some potions for us”.

The beacon of light showed them the way down a steep, dusty staircase to a door some dozen of feet from them. Still shaking from the fall and the injuries, Hanzo perched himself to the wall - weird, it was not as cold as he’d expected, much warmer than the ruins above them - and got to his feet. His head spun a bit, and McCree, right at his left, didn’t look in better condition, pale and wiping blood from his face with his wrist.

“Alright, change of plans: potions first, moving later”. Grimacing, he patted his chest and sides with his only hand, his left sleeve hanging empty from his elbow. “Damn, these are broken. But maybe I have one left…”

Hanzo couldn’t tell how many pockets, bags, inner purses and the like McCree’s armor hid, nor he was inclined to ask where exactly he pulled that intact healing potion from, but he gladly accepted it. It was thicker, even fouler than the ones he’d tasted before, but it burned down his stomach and body like a crimson flame, and before the mouldy smell had vanished from his nose he realized not only his cuts and bruises weren’t hurting anymore, but he wasn’t even as tired. He licked his lips and passed it on to McCree, who downed the remaining half and sighed.

“Ugh. Right what we were lookin’ for… but it’s working already, see?” and he pointed at his split eyebrow, now quickly sealing under Hanzo’s eyes.

“True. Still, we wouldn’t have needed, hadn’t you been so…”

_Wait. Do I really want to hang on our quarrels and throw blaming around? We have a mission to carry on, and we work well together. Jesse knows he made a mistake and already made up for it._

So he just shook his head with a crooked smile and made his way down the stairs. Behind him, McCree chuckled; the touch of his ethereal hand, preannounced by a feeble blue glow in the darkness, sent a pleasant shiver up Hanzo’s spine. He gathered some of his outrage with little success and turned to McCree, wiggling his finger under his nose.

“Don’t you ever lift me like a sack of potatoes again, agreed?”

“Honey, I like havin’ you on top of me, but there are better situations to… ouch!”

Hanzo poked his side with his stiff finger and jumped the last two steps. Escaping from death and savoring the first real moment of safety in hours made him giggly, so he tried not to give in to hilarity again. Still, it felt good.

The door appeared in front of them, a colossal slab of studded metal that reflected the dim lights of their spell and McCree’s hand. Hanzo frowned at it - and at his mirrored version, pale and scruffy from the too many adventures of the last day - and extended his fingers to the place where the handle was supposed to be.

McCree grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“Have you learned nothing, darlin’? Let the thief go first. What would you do in case of traps?”

“But there doesn’t seem to be…”

“That’s for me to say. Also, I’m expendable, while yer the Dragonborn”, he smirked, but Hanzo, despite the warmer air seeping through the door, froze. He took McCree by the neck of his armor and dragged it down to his eye level, staring at him with cold despair.

“Say that once more, McCree, and I’ll give you a taste of the dragon’s wrath. I’ve put you in enough danger already, and if you think your d-death would… would mean anything but… I mean, don’t you dare to get yourself killed because of me, it would....”

McCree shut his mouth with a kiss. Hard at first, just a way to stop his rambling, but then sweet and gentle.

“Got it, honey. I didn’t want to upset you, but would you let a poor old thief do his job and make sure yer safe and sound?”

“That I could do”, Hanzo said, reluctantly letting go of him. The idea of losing McCree had shaken him way more than he’d thought possible, but this wasn’t the moment to allow that intrusive thought take the reins. He stood back as McCree inspected the door, frowning at every indenture and scratch in the metal, and eventually shaking his head.

“Well, shoot, it looks just fine. I guess we can just go through it, am I right?” He winked at Hanzo’s reflection and pushed the door.

Light invaded the narrow space, but nothing like the pale glow of the magic beacon floating above them, or the golden blaze of the torches. An eerie, green-blue glare crawled from the darkness in front of them. Hanzo could see little, with McCree’s bulk standing in the way, but the cold halo surrounding his body made his heart skip a beat.

“Ysmir’s balls”, the thief whispered in utter awe. “That… that’s impressive…”

“If you say so… come on, move along, I want to see it too, it’s… oh”.

The moment McCree took a step forward, leaving Hanzo room to join him beyond the threshold, his words failed him. His mouth opened slowly, as wide as his eyes, and he reached McCree on the edge of the platform.

“It is”, he breathed out. A deep shiver shook his bones when his mind took in the most majestic and frightening scenery he’d ever seen. He’d expected a change of architecture, the crude map Moira had provided them with told of a second level under the Dwemer ruins, but this wasn’t what he’d expected.

Alftand was the work of a daring, maybe too bold race. War and nature had reclaimed their legacy, leaving but ice and broken gears behind. This was different - tall buildings looming around them like ghosts, with empty windows and perfect carvings on the elaborated walls. It was the realm of shadows, thicker than ever, only broken here and there by the creepy glow of a giant mushroom spreading its immense cap over blooming bushes of plants that never saw the light of the sun.

And this was Blackreach, the very heart of the mystery they were digging into, the ultimate Dwemer secret.

The shrine of the Elder Scroll.

Hanzo let out a soft gasp as his gaze slithered all around - more buildings around a curvy street of opaline cobblestones, running down a gentle hill to a tall structure at the end of a bridge. His instinct suggested him that it was the right path, but it was a distant mumbling under the roaring of his amazement.

“I’ve never seen anything like this”, McCree said. The air was not as cold, but it was damp and made breathing difficult. In his tone was a touch of sincere reverence, and Hanzo couldn’t criticize him: his arms, too, were covered in goosebumps, and as he leaned forward on the platform he saw nothing human or even remotely natural in that place. Nothing worldly. Something more than time had reclaimed that corner of the Dwemer empire.

“We should go”, Hanzo said, even if taking his eyes off the valley. Above them not the sky, but dark stone glimmering with fluorescent veins, and around them the incessant hushed voices of the centuries - yes, they definitely had better go. It was beautiful, toxic and hypnotic, and they could’ve spent days basking in it.

_Days_.

The thought of the sun rolling in the sky roused him for real: how long had they been inside the mountain? Suddenly, the world seemed gone from his mind, too focused on impending dangers and impossible realities to reach the real world out there.

Hanzo snarled and rubbed his eyes with his fists. When his vision cleared, Blackreach was still beautiful and enticing, but he could fight its charm back. McCree, on the other hand, was still staring in absolute marvel.

“Jesse”, Hanzo said, grabbing McCree’s arm. “Let’s go. Now”.

McCree blinked and looked down, as if surprised to see Hanzo at his side. Then clarity flashed back in his eyes, and he frowned.

“Yeah. Yeah, yer right”, he said, shaking his head. In the greenish light he looked as pale as a drowned man, but the more he stared at Hanzo, the more his face brightened with actual attention.

Blackreach was twice as lethal as Alftand, even if its threats were of a different nature. Their footsteps down the damp staircase that led from the platform to the ground sounded oddly stifled, even if Hanzo wasn’t trying to be stealthy at all: he needed something as familiar as the sound of his feet on the stones to remember he was alive and this was true, and not some weird dream that could’ve swallowed his wits.

Only when they reached the dark and wet soil at the bottom, a clear sound broke the odd quiet of the cave.

Water, and not just a distant whisper, but the actual, familiar noise of a running stream just out of reach in the darkness. Hanzo frantically turned to the source of the sound and peeked from the riverbank: a creek jumping among the rocks, lively and black and so wonderfully normal. McCree was at his side, and when Hanzo looked at him a big smile stretched his lips.

“We gotta follow it. It’ll lead us out”, and the mere idea of the outside, with warm sun and cold winds, with pine trees and birds and food, was so beautiful Hanzo stifled a sigh of longing.

“You’re right. Come on, let’s keep an eye out for the river, but first - there”, and he pointed at the tower at the end of the faraway, slender bridge, ghostly in the darkness.

Soon they lost track of the distance they had walked. Part of it depended on the neverending marvels they encountered - faces of gold and white marble staring at them from half collapsed fortresses, statues with no arms or eyes sparkling under the giant mushrooms, and even another colossus like those they’d encountered after the falmer camp. This time McCree, all the wiser from experience, didn’t spare the statue a single look and kept the distance. Hanzo smirked inwardly and followed him, until the golden door they’d walked in was nothing but a glimmer in the dark, and only the pale road remained to guide them to their goal.

It was tempting - to run down the rest of the road and to the tower, to get the job done and be out. So much so Hanzo started to be blind to everything around them, too focused on the endgame to remember how risky them being out in the open like this was.

He slowed down, and McCree took his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Wait”. The thief sounded troubled, and Hanzo took a deep breath and looked at him. “We’re too visible. What’s wrong with us? We know better than just jump on the road like this…”

Hanzo had no time to reply. McCree dragged him from the cobblestones and to the roadside, in the complete shadows of the moss-covered rocks and old buildings. When the last sparkle of blue from the mushrooms was gone, Hanzo hissed through his teeth and realized he’d been tricked once more by that weird place; he crawled behind McCree, glad his companion was more resistant to the spell surrounding them than him

Almost blind in the darkness, surrounded by the deafening rustle of their movements and of the leaves caressing their limbs, Hanzo stopped to catch his breath. And right then and there, a horrifying realization hit him.

For him, being blind was a tragedy. But they’d met already some creatures whose eyesight was less than an optional.

He panted and reached out for McCree.

“Jesse…”

“Mh?”

“It’s dark, here. Awfully dark”.

He couldn’t see him, but a frown was evident in McCree’s voice.

“So what? Don’t tell me yer afraid of…”

“Not of the dark. But what could live here, other than blind monsters? We’ve had more than our share of those already”.

“Have it your way, honey. I think a little bit of light wouldn’t hurt, we could always pass for weird lookin’ ‘shrooms - here we go”, and with a flick of his fingers, he summoned again the sparkle that had guided them here. And in such faint light, McCree was grinning. “There. Better? I don’t think that… oh. Oh, fuck”.

Hanzo instinctively closed his eyes in the rustling around them. Still there, even if they weren’t moving.

“It’s behind me, isn’t it?”

“Yeah”.

“Near?”

“Too much for my tastes but - _duck_!”

Hanzo promptly obeyed. A black, beastly sword swished so near the top of his head that it ruffled his hair; hadn’t it been for McCree’s warning, he would’ve been very much dead.

He rolled to the side, and when he landed on his feet in a more stable position, he saw McCre bursting into action. The falmer was hissing at him, hunching its back to load another strike, but McCree was faster. The white light between he and his opponent flickered brighter, making the falmer wince in pain. A second later, though, more pain came from the knife darting through the air and piercing the creature’s long throat.

The falmer fell to its face, reeling and grunting in a puddle of black, sticky blood. Hanzo recovered from the brief shock and jumped back to McCree’s side.

“Are you alright?”

“Was ‘bout to ask you the same, sunshine - yeah, safe and sound, but I’ve had enough of those beasts”. He got to his feet and rolled the falmer on its back to fish his dagger from the creature’s flesh. “It’s too quiet, now…”

Maybe he was right, or maybe it was just their own tension messing with their perceptions, but Blackreach seemed to be holding its breath. Hanzo liked nothing about it, so he nodded.

“Anyway, thank you for saving my life again…”

“We should keep scores. At the end of the month, the winner gets…”

Hanzo kissed him, quick and tense, but it was so real and comforting he added a second one, lighter and more heartfelt.

“Let’s hurry, Nightingale. The sooner we’re out of here, the better; we go back on the road, it’s safer”.

After what felt like hours of walking, with his feet hurting from the smooth round stones and his hand aching where he’d been holding the bow, they eventually reached that damned bridge.

“D’you think it’s there?” McCree asked, hoarse. Hanzo nodded - not only he thought so, with what little information they gathered from Moira’s report: he prayed it was so with all of his being. There, at the other side of the canyon where the creek ran, beyond the stone ledge they’d been walking on for an endless time, yet another Dwemer structure pointed to the vault ceiling. A tower, it had seemed from the distance, but from here he could see it was mostly intact, untouched by moss and vegetation and preceded by a tall bridge.

“It is”, he croaked back. He knew it with something deeper and more ancient than wits, and whatever it was - instinct or hope or premonition - it tasted a lot like delusion. Still, he clenched his jaws and fists and strode town the bridge, fast and stubborn. His footsteps weren’t as careful as they’d been before, and he didn’t care about the noise he was making: either they were near their destination, or they would find shelter behind the massive doors. Both possibilities seemed better than spending another second in that cave.

As they approached the tower, Hanzo felt the distinct, unpleasant sensation of a thousand eyes staring at him from the void. He reached the door almost running, and when he looked back he only saw McCree take over him and open the door with a grimace.

When they stepped into the darkness and the metal shutters slammed behind them, he let out a relieved sigh and leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold floor.

When McCree limped toward him, Hanzo suppressed a chuckle.

“Listen”, he whispered with an inexplicable bubble of relief.

“To - ugh, I think I’ve got a damaged rib or something - to what?” he asked. He sat by Hanzo’s side, and for a while the only sound in the tower was their breath in the darkness.

“The silence. It’s quiet here - for real. We’re alone”.

McCree fumbled for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He evoked his other hand, and the blue glow made his face look spectral - but also alive. And safe, for a change. The thief smiled and relaxed his shoulders.

“We’re locked in. And since it looks like we’re alone, it’s definitely an improvement if compared with what’s out there”. He took a deep breath and leaned aginst Hanzo, who lifted his palm and scraped the bottom of his stock of energies to create some light again.

There was no need, though, because as the spell rolled in his veins the whole tower started to glow. Slowly, a white light that seemed to seep from the walls and slowly crawl to the center of what revealed itself like a huge round hall - and at its center…

Hanzo squinted and covered his face with his free hand. It couldn’t be real, the immense sphere emerging from the shadows had to be an illusion. But the more intensity the light earned, the clearer the shape became in front of his eyes. Copper and gold, round windows of turquoise and sapphire piercing the surface, the sphere stood out against the immaculate white circular walls, and all around it a thin metal ladder seemed to lead up to the top. He slowly stood up, conscious that McCree was doing the same while letting out a low whistle.

“Hey, sugar, look up there”, he said, tugging at Hanzo’s sleeve. Hanzo followed McCree’s pointing finger with his eyes, up to the round metal surface and slender ladder, and then some more, until he was staring directly at the ceiling.

He had to shield his eyes once more, because that was where the light was coming from, but what he saw made his heart swell with hope and expectations. There was a hole at the top of the tower, and it looked like the blinding sun of a clear afternoon was shining through it. The ray of light descended to the top of the sphere, and around it a complex of lenses and mirrors of the same colorful glass of the windows surrounded a shining cocoon.

Hanzo realized he was still holding - and probably crushing - McCree’s hand, and he let it go suddenly.

“I guess… we’ll have to climb up this thing”, and he knocked on the sphere with his knuckles. It didn’t rang empty as Hanzo had half expected.

“Yer thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, right, Han? That we’re almost there. The Elder Scroll is here”, McCree said, his nose still pointing up to the ceiling.

And Hanzo wanted - needed - to believe it was true. He wrapped his sweaty hand on the thin railing, little more than a metal rope hanging from slender columns, and after a deep breath he placed his foot on the first step.

He closed his eyes expecting the worst, but nothing happened, and when he peeked from under his lashes he saw the stairs were just that. _Stairs_ , even if delicately decorated like metal lace.

_Let’s do this. It’s not getting any easier, no matter how long I wait._

But despite his own encouragement, with every footstep Hanzo heard a chanting in his head.

_Let it be here. Let me be strong enough to take it and use it accordingly. It’s too important, and I’m tired - what if I lack the strength to search again? What if I lack the time?_

Soon, before such thoughts could swallow him and crush his chest, he landed on something that resounded full and flat under his feet. When he looked down, Hanzo saw he had reached the top of the sphere; McCree was right behind him, serious but with his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he approached the ledge overlooking the round structure.

Hanzo didn’t share his enthusiasm, because all he could do was look at the cocoon. His hopes dropped when he realized it was still several dozens of feet up in the air, and there was no way for them to reach it.

Their platform was empty but for a series of five low columns of inscribed metal.

“How do we get up there?” Hanzo asked, mostly to himself.

McCree, standing behind him, looked up and scrunched his nose.

“Good question. We need at least twenty feet of rope, and don’t ask me where we should hook it ‘cause I have no idea. Everything up there looks like it’s made of glass, and neither of us is a tiny thing - noticed that when I had to carry you, y’know? - we’d end up breaking something…”

Hanzo’s frustration covered McCree’s teasing. He paced back and forth, restless, and eventually stopped in front of the columns.

“Damn it!”

All they’d been through, the fatigue, the ice, ruins and darkness and awful creatures - all for nothing. They were stuck, the Scroll almost at arm’s reach but not quite.

“I’m considerin’ some kind of trick, too - like, you could try and Shout it off its support? But no, it wouldn’t work, there’s some reason it’s hanging there, so I’m sure there’s some kind of security system to…”

“Shut up!” Hanzo cried out, hands in his hair. He immediately felt bad for it, because McCree blinked and lowered his head, mortified, but he couldn’t take it back either, and his anger was already looking for a target. He punched one of the columns and turned his back to the sphere. “Can you not? You’re thinking out loud, and it’s hard enough already, I barely feel like myself and…”

His exasperated voice covered an insignificant, extremely relevant small click.

Something moved behind him. He felt it more than seeing it, and McCree looked up from his boots to the intricate system of mirrors around the Elder Scroll. His bashful expression faded, and his face brightened up as he took Hanzo’s shoulder and made him turn on his heels.

“Han! Look!”

In front of Hanzo’s eyes, the light inside the tower changed. Shadows twisted, and from the ceiling came a high-pitched creaking.

Two of the lenses were revolving around some invisible pivot. The cocoon stood still and closed but, at the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw a glimmer of blue. The top portion of the column he’d punched was now blinking at him in a clear blue light, the same hue of the mushrooms outside, but stronger. McCree joined him and placed a trembling, half transparent hand on a second column. He swallowed, completely absorbed by the task, and then pressed.

More lenses moved above their heads. Some debris and dust fell from the ceiling when the cocoon moved lower. Toward them.

The second column, too, was now shining blue.

Hanzo stared at McCree in complete, absolute admiration.

“You are… a genius. Sorry if I was an asshole”, he whispered, but McCree barely grinned. “So if we push this…”

He tried to help, pressing the third column, but the second one, under McCree’s hand, went out. The Elder Scroll climbed up to its original position.

“Oh - sorry, Jesse, I…”

“No no, it was great, now we know what happens if we miss”. He ruffled his hair and shot Hanzo a bright look full of hope and excitement. “It’s a puzzle. I love them”.

“I used to, as a kid. And I think…” Hanzo ran his fingers on all the columns. “We’re to touch them in the right order; if they go off, we’re doing it wrong”.

“Better be cautious”, McCree insisted, going back to the original conformation of the complex.

“It’s a series. Every button activates one ring of mirrors around the Elder Scroll, and only when the light can go through them in the right way the whole thing is going to move…”

For how unnerving the following hour or so was, Hanzo couldn’t but love it. McCree was a creative, intelligent man, and their minds worked together as perfectly as their bodies did. Hanzo mostly gave instructions that McCree, for the good part, agreed with; he was hunched over the buttons, and only his hands moved with swift precision.

“Two - three… and three again”, he muttered, pushing two buttons at the same time. His face looked drawn, and Hanzo hesitated before interrupting his status of almost trance.

The ray of light crawled away until it was falling perpendicular to the sphere. The fourth column, by Hanzo’s elbow, opened up to life, and eventually the Elder Scroll descended to no more than ten feet above the sphere.

Hanzo slowly looked up. Now he could clearly see the chest: a translucent green ovoid, studded in gold and perfectly smooth. There, beyond the thick surface of glass or gems, a long shape whispered to him of immense power and ancient secrets.

The silence of the tower was broken - the Elder Scroll was murmuring to Hanzo’s mind and heart, a ceaseless tale of a long lost past made of magic and mysteries.

McCree, though, was still with him. He let out a long breath and shot Hanzo a deep look from under the loos bangs on his brow.

“Pray I’m right”, he growled. And Hanzo couldn’t pray, because he didn’t know who would have stooped to listen to the prayer of an assassin, but he trusted McCree. Jaws clenched and mouth dry, he nodded and held his breath.

McCree pushed the last button, and the tower rang with a single click. Hanzo closed his eyes and mentally prepared for an unidentified worse.

Seconds dragged on, slow and empty. In the silence, nothing happened, until McCree let out a loud gasp of utter surprise.

The darkness behind Hanzo’s lids burst with gold, and when he opened them, a blinding light invested him. He tried to cover his eyes with his hand, but he needed to look. To _see_.

The cocoon was open. It was nearly impossible to see what was inside it, but Hanzo didn’t need it: it was it. It was there, laying on the sphere, so close he could’ve touched it, had he just extended his hand. The Elder Scroll waited for him with the infinite patience of something created before time even existed. Its power throbbed like a living heart, and Hanzo trembled so hard he almost fell to his knees.

What they were looking for, the only solution to the end of the world, was in front of him, and he couldn’t find the guts to take it. It was too much, an object of such power it scared him.

_I have to. It’s my duty, my destiny - a destiny I chose to fulfill,_ he said to himself.

McCree, behind him, was on his knees. Praying for real, maybe, or just overwhelmed by the impossible artifact. Hanzo envied him: he’d done his part, bravely and beyond what was expected of him. For him, for the Dragonborn, the journey was but at the beginning.

And the Dragonborn had a single goal: defeat Alduin. This left no room for childish fears, and Hanzo forced his heart and breath to slow down. He licked his dry lips and gritted his teeth, before tapping into his stock of determination and walking to the light.

The sphere seemed to quiver - or breathe, live, _whisper_ \- beneath him.

The supernatural brilliance wrapped around him and welcomed him, not painful now, just too far beyond the realm of mortal knowledge to be understood and embraced. Tears ran down his cheeks, and Hanzo didn’t stop to wipe them.

Yes, the Scroll was alive, a pulsating thing that spoke in a language that was all the languages ever existed in every world, a power so big that only trying to discern it would’ve made a man crazy.

Hanzo reached out and walked on and on, without moving far into space but crossing faded currents of time, until his fingers met something solid. His whole body clenched when he finally touched the Elder Scroll - it was bigger and heavier than he’d imagined, but again, such weight was not a physical sensation. Everything around him disappeared, erased by the maddening strength now resting in his hands. The moment he took the artifact from its support, the cocoon closed with a loud snap, and the ray of light around it faded.

Shocked, his head buzzing with voices only he could ear, Hanzo staggered back right before the system of lenses twirled again with a vibration that shook his very bones. Hands - warm, real, marked by magic and callouses and scars - grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back on the platform, and as the lenses moved up to the ceiling again, Hanzo half fell in McCree’s arms.

He was speaking, but the rich voice was nothing but another melody in the chaos Hanzo held in his hands. When the security system clicked in place and stood still, he took a deep breath: the frightening throbbing was gone, and he was himself again, even if his mind was still disturbed by the whirlwind of time.

As if in a dream, he grabbed the extremities of the Scroll, but before he could give in to the instinct that roared him to open it and read its secrets, McCree took his wrist.

“What are you doin’?”

“I want to see what’s inside. I need to…”

“No! Not here, not now - yer holdin’ something more ancient than men and elves, even more than the mountains themselves! I wouldn’t be surprised if a divine had laid their fingers on this… thing”, McCree said, and when Hanzo looked up at him in anger he saw reverence and dread on his beloved face.

Any other time, Hanzo would’ve brushed all that talk of gods and supernatural with a sneer, but in that moment, as he nodded at McCree’s common sense and slung the Elder Scroll on his back, he was more than ready to accept the less sensible of explanations.

“You’re right. After all, Paarthurnax told me to carry it to the Throat of the World, so… yes. Thank you, Jesse”.

McCree smiled.

“C’mon, darlin’, let’s get out of here and then I’m takin’ you to save the world”.

The beginning of relief Hanzo had felt when they’d found the Scroll vanished at the thought of having a world to save indeed. He frowned and clenched his fists, and McCree noticed his discomfort. He moved closer, leaning their foreheads together, and traced the line of Hanzo’s cheekbone with his thumb.

“Yer not to do this alone. I’m with you, to death and beyond - remember it”. He lightly kissed the tip of Hanzo’s nose and, with a grin, made his way out of the tower.

Hanzo followed him, torn between the constant murmur of the Elder Scroll and the heart-breaking awareness that McCree was indeed ready to go with him to the farthest corner of Oblivion. Not just for themselves, even if Hanzo was starting to see how his lover would’ve protected him with his life, but to make the burden on his shoulders less unbearable.

Behind the sphere, they soon found a second door, smaller but similar to the one they’d walked through to the tower. McCree kicked it open, making dust fall from the hinges, revealing a long, dark corridor. It was as intact as the rest of the structure, and as they made their way down the smooth marble floor, a long series of pale golden lights blazed on the walls.

“Looks like a museum”, McCree whispered as they walked past a huge closet of carved stone, whose shelves were filled to the brim with exquisite golden objects. Some still puffed out tiny clouds of steam, and they were all covered in centuries of dust. Hanzo shook his head to focus on the present, and not on the tales the Scroll was trying to show him.

“No”, he said in a shaky tone. “It looks like a tomb…”

There were no bodies or bones, but every detail they came across - the table laid with mummified food, the square, tidy beds - told a story of a people suddenly disappeared.

The cold came back, sharp and painful; the air was perfectly clear, with no trace of smells that could’ve revealed some living presence in the halls. Now, because the open flask and glasses on a low table told a different story.

“What happened here?” Hanzo wondered, and had he given in to the sensual temptation of the Scroll, he could’ve found an answer. He’d never wanted anything less in his whole life.

“Nobody knows, told ya. ‘Tis one of the great mysteries many are tryina uncover: you don’t just go missin’ when yer in charge of something important like the Elder Scroll…”

Hearing its name spoken, the artifact on Hanzo’s back buzzed to make his presence even clearer. In his mind, glimpses of death flashed, a tall, stern race, their marvelous pieces of machinery, everything wiped out by something Hanzo couldn’t grasp, just beyond his reach. He saw bones being shattered and blood ran on the marble, and he held his hand out, to touch, to feel and learn…

“Hanzo! Look at me!”

He gasped. McCree was holding his arm with such strength it hurt, his face was inches from Hanzo’s, his eyes terrified. Slowly, Hanzo focused on him.

“I was… seeing. I was understanding…”

“No, you were leavin’ me!” he snapped. He shook Hanzo once and went deadly serious. “Yer carryin’ something dangerous, told ya already. Try to stay with me and keep your mind steady on the real world… I’m scared of what that thing could do to you…”

Hanzo realized his own breath was slow and heavy; he filled his lungs with icy air, trying to feel every sensation, from the chill in his nose to the cold wave running down his lungs, and eventually, his thoughts cleared. There was no blood, just smooth stone and old trinkets all around them. His reflection in McCree’s eyes was small and insignificant.

“Stop being right, that should be my job”, he tried to joke. “Let’s go, I want to go home before having to leave again…”

Home. The word, the very concept slipped on his tongue and elicited a sweet smile on McCree’s face. He didn’t comment, even if Hanzo was sure he, too, was seeing how important that moment was.

“Think of Riften, then”, he said, pushing Hanzo to the side and stepping in front of him. “We’ll be back, and everyone will go nuts to know what we saw and did, and there’s gonna be beer, and mead, and Vekel will roast a whole mammoth, if not a dragon…”

“Please, not the flying lizards. That’s not comforting at all”.

“Nah, don’t think ‘bout it, I’m sure Riften’s alright. Nobody cares enough about it to attack it, so - _ah!_ ”

McCree stopped instantly, his hand reaching for his shoulder. When he moved to the side, a small click came from under his boot.

“Jesse? What happened?” Hanzo asked, even if his emotions felt dull. Concern was but a mist beyond the veil of the Scroll.

“A trap. Again”, McCree said very calmly. He stood upright and turned to Hanzo with a smirk that looked too much like a grimace. In his hand was a dart of the same golden metal that adorned the tower. “Good for me I had my armor…” He threw the dart away and shrugged, tightening the chinches on his pauldron.

“Are you sure? It’s… I mean, do you want me to…”

“Don’t worry, sunshine. If I’m too tired to see a trap, then we’re both in danger”.

The old Hanzo would’ve insisted with his questions, but now every thought cost him too much energy to allow him clarity. He just nodded and followed McCree down another corridor, and then another yet, until space lost its meaning and his head spun with confusion.

They didn’t meet any more traps, but the last detour took them to a dead end road. Or maybe not: a small, round room with no windows, empty but for a lever sticking out from the floor. Up the walls were long metal grooves, that disappeared into the darkness above them.

McCree looked up, and when Hanzo imitated him he saw there seemed to be no ceiling - just a small, pale dot of light almost hidden in the shadows.

“This is too obvious to be a trap”, he said. McCree took a deep breath and crouched - was that pain in his eyes? Maybe not - and took the lever.

“I don’t think so. Shall we give it a try?”

“Do it. I trust you”.

McCree winked and pulled the lever. Rusty as it was after many lifetimes of inactivity, it offered a fierce resistance, and McCree grunted, putting all his weight on the metal.

It worked. The lever moved down, and Hanzo envied McCree’s idea of squatting. The floor jolted with a deafening grinding noise, and it moved so suddenly Hanzo fell against the wall.

The entrance they’d used disappeared beneath them as they rapidly ascended in the dark. Hanzo, deprived of a grip on his own emotion, could’ve laughed at the approaching light, getting closer and bigger with every jump of the elevator.

A different kind of wind blew in his face, cold and smelling of snow.

The outside world was there, and a pale blue light bathed McCree’s face, turned up to the sky. To their freedom.

Hanzo was starting to worry about how to stop their race, but the elevator slowed down on its own. The floor stopped with one last start so intense it gave Hanzo nausea; he staggered and fell on all fours, quickly checking the Elder Scroll on his back. Yes, still there, still speaking to him.

When he managed to catch his breath and raise his head, he saw they were now standing in what looked like an old pavilion, similar in style to the ruins they’d crossed. A well, for the casual observer, too old and deep to attract much attention.

“We… made it”, McCree said, hoarse. He helped Hanzo to his feet and stumbled to the nearest gate, opening it with a rough pull at the rusty lock.

The mountains around them were an infinite expanse of white, and Hanzo got lost in the countless snowflakes, mirroring the stars blazing in the night sky. If his mind was easily confused by the burden of knowledge he carried, his body was none the stronger, and he dragged himself into the snow that swallowed his ankles.

“We should set up camp”, he suggested in a husky voice. So many, and each of them perfect and unique - the snowflakes sparkled under his eyes, and he was already falling behind McCree.

“No, better not”, the thief said, staring at the horizon. “Dawn’s near, and I’m not that eager to spend too much time on the road. Our cargo is.... risky, to say the least”.

He was right. Again, but Hanzo was too engulfed in the Elder Scroll to remember his pride and reply. His legs, though, were still reactive enough to grumble silently at the idea of more walking.

They descended the mountain in a spiral path, and before the sun was high in the sky they met one of the marked paths they’d walked on their way up. Yesterday? How many days had passed?

Hanzo couldn’t tell, as he couldn’t tell how long their journey took them. He only grasped flashes of reality - McCree’s pale face, his contracted lips stretching in a painful smile just for him, the warmth of midday on his shoulders - but his trusted discipline had left him.

It was late afternoon when they came in sight of the inn they’d left their horses at.

“You wait here”, McCree hissed without looking at Hanzo. “Gotta get our rides back”.

“But…” Hanzo tried to protest.

“Stay here with the Scroll. It’ll only take me a minute, the sooner we’re off, the better”.

He kept his word, and when he returned on his horse, with Hanzo’s mare trotting beside him, Hanzo thought that the thief could play stoic all he wanted: he looked drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.

_He’s at least as tired as I am._

The following days went by in a bog of exhaustion and confusion. They weren’t even halfway to Riften when McCree stopped trying to hold a one-way conversation with Hanzo, and every night they were both too tired to do much more than cuddle together and fall in an uncomfortable sleep. Hanzo dreamed too much, his nights haunted with scraps of memories from someone else’s past, and woke up at dawn without remembering what he saw, but knowing it was there.

The last of their journey went on under a heavy rain, and only his mare’s good heart prevented Hanzo from getting lost in the madness of the water droplets pouring from the sky. Right before the first light of a dull day, Riften emerged from the shadows, as depressing as ever.

Hanzo was drenched despite the hood on his head, and McCree swayed on his saddle, coughing every now and then. Not that Hanzo’s conditions were any better, his nose running and his hands freezing on the reins.

They were home, and Hanzo’s heart swelled in his chest. The Elder Scroll, a gibbous shape under his cloak, suddenly wasn’t so loud anymore, its call covered by the sheer relief of reaching the end of their mission. He even managed to imagine the simple pleasures of dry clothes and a warm bed when McCree stopped behind him.

Hanzo turned and managed to smile at him.

“We’re almost there”, he said, encouraging.

McCree shivered and grabbed the saddle.

“I always keep my promises, y’know? Told ya I’d be with you until... until the end of this nightmare”. He shook his hood off, and the sweetest, saddest of smiles stretched his lips.

Hanzo frowned, and his sparkle of good humor dimmed.

“Jesse? What are you…”

“I’m sorry, Hanzo. I fear this time I can’t do it”, he said in a flat, weak voice.

He tilted back on the saddle and fell heavily to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No really I'm sorry ok? Don't hate me too much. It'll be alright. I just like to make my faves suffer.
> 
> You can come yell at me on tumblr @valpur, and I'll reply with hugs and cookies because you're all great.


	13. Sed arkh men

It took Hanzo an obnoxiously long time to understand.

_Wait. Is he so tired? What is he doing?_

The whisper of the Elder Scroll faded in his mind, and in its place came a thick wave of utter horror. Hanzo roused with a strangled gasp and let go of the reins, jumping off his horse with little grace. He threw the Scroll away and fell to his knees in the mud, his hands reaching out for McCree. He grabbed his shoulders and grunted to turn him on his back, and the first thing he noticed was that his Nightingale armor was not pierced. The pauldrons, the chest plate were scratched, but there were no visible signs of weapons. With shaking hands Hanzo cupped McCree’s face and tried to turn it up to him. He was deadly cold.

“Jesse? No, no Jesse no - what’s happening? What are…”

He was back to himself again, and it didn’t feel good. McCree’s eyes fluttered open, but apparently, it cost him the last of his energies. Hanzo let his fingers tremble down his throat - the pulse was so fast, so light… - and to his shoulders, to shake him, to make him get back to his senses. In doing so, something warm and sticky trickled down his fingers. When Hanzo looked at them, nausea gripped his jaws: the blood was black in the dim light. And it was too much.

“Didn’t… want to slow you down, sugar. Put you in danger…” McCree stuttered. His lips, so pale they were almost gray, were stained in red, too.

Hanzo felt the ground crack beneath him, ready to crumble and swallow him.

“Don’t… McCree, don’t you dare to die on me! Don’t die!” he cawed. Because he knew it, even if his heart couldn’t accept it: that was the face of a man claimed by death. He frantically looked around, but they were alone. A desperate cry for help turned into a whimper. “Help… please, help…”

His voice fell flat in the night. McCree took his hand and stared at him.

“Hanzo. There’s no need to”, he said with a smile, the sweetest Hanzo’d ever seen. And such smile froze on his lips as he closed his eyes. He didn't open them again.

Rain washed the blood away, and Hanzo’s tears with it. He knew better than this - he needed to get up, look for help, scream his grief and fear to the skies with all the power of a roaring dragon, but he couldn’t. He held on to McCree’s body, so limp and frail, and couldn’t avert his gaze from his face.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the man he’d learned to trust - to love - with his brash grin and bright eyes. It couldn’t be real.

He couldn’t be _dead_.

This time, when time melted around him, it was not the Scroll’s doing. The ancient artifact lay forgotten in a puddle, silent, and Hanzo became his own pain.

 _Jesse. Jesse, no. Please come back. Look at me, say something… Jesse I beg you_ stop _it…_

How long he stood there, with his knees hurting and his head pounding with shocked tears, he couldn’t tell. The sun seemed to linger beneath the horizon, as if too shy to show its face and cast its light over the tragedy taking place by Riften’s walls.

But the world still existed, even if Hanzo could only grasp glimpses of movement around him. Nobody came to help them, no guards to question Hanzo.

After what felt like forever, somebody spoke in the distance, so remote Hanzo wondered how he could hear it.

_Jesse, don’t leave me. You promised - don’t leave me, we have a world to save, remember? And you always keep your word…_

McCree was as heavy and lifeless as a stone in his lap, his face the same color of the pale marble of Alftand under a lightning that shook the clouds. Under Hanzo’s fingers, only a memory of his warmth remained.

Voices. Someone was running. Cursing.

Hanzo’s head was empty but for the delusional hope to see McCree blink and grin at him.

Voices around him. He should’ve recognized them.

“... had my share of doubts on your little informers, Sparrow, but I must admit that… oh, by the many eyes of Hermaeus Mora, I can’t believe it! You, brat, move along!”

The sharp slap on his hands would’ve sent Hanzo in a fit of anger, but right now he lacked the energy to do anything but fall to the side when a bony elbow hit him in the shoulder.

There were torches around him, sizzling in the rain. A tall and slender figure bowed over McCree, her voice cold.

“You want him to get pneumonia, too?” Moira grunted as she pawed at McCree’s face. She pried his lids open to reveal a slice of white and nothing more. “He’s half dead already. Help me turn him around”, she demanded, and a figure in black promptly obeyed.

Hanzo’s soul burst into flames. He jumped up, unsteady in his movements, and charged the man in black with a howl of absolute despair.

“No! Don’t touch him! You’re not taking him from me! I won’t…”

The stranger slid to the side, and revealed himself as Gabriel Reyes, his dark eyes cold and hard. Hanzo spun on his heels and tried to attack him again, but this time a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back.

“Jesse! No!” he cried out again as Gabe picked McCree up as if he was but a child.

“Hanzo, enough!” hissed a voice in his ear. Probably the only living voice he would’ve reacted to. “Brother, please, stop it!”

“Yes, boy, stop it”, Moira said with an unpleasant sneer on her long face. “Let the grown-ups do their job and try to save this unfortunate sack of meat…”

Save.

Hanzo went limp in Genji’s arms and stopped struggling.

“He’s… alive?” he whispered. He had to grab Genji’s shoulders not to fall when his knees gave way.

Somehow, Moira heard him. She stopped and turned to him, and in the blinding light of another lightning, her mismatched eyes almost looked pitiful.

“He’s still alive, but barely. I don’t know how long he’ll last if we don’t take him somewhere safe. Good for him he was smart enough to tighten the straps of his armor to slower the blood flow down… no, Gabriel, don’t wiggle him around like that, he’s already keeping it together by sheer stubbornness…”

Moira and Gabe disappeared in the shadows around the city, and Hanzo was left alone with Genji.

“Hanzo - hey, it’s going to be alright, you heard me? Look at me now… like this, look at me”, Genji said, taking Hanzo’s face in his hands. He squished his cheeks and nodded. “He’s alive, that’s what Moira said. Jesse is going to survive, she brought back people who were technically dead - he’s in good hands”.

_Alive. Jesse is alive._

_Still_ alive, and Moira’s wording rang ominously in Hanzo’s mind. He tried to focus on Genji’s face, but his brother’s eyes blurred in front of him as more tears ran down his cheeks.

“I don’t want him to die…” he breathed out, a world of fear and love hidden in his words. Genji held him tight and let him sob on his shoulder without saying anything, only caressing the back of his head and whispering empty reassurances to his ear. He, too, sounded terrified, and Hanzo emerged from the pit of his grief to remember that McCree was like a brother to Genji.

They shared this pain.

After a while, Genji pulled back and sniffled. His eyes were puffy, his mouth failed to arch in a proper smile. But he still tried - for Hanzo, and for himself.

“Let’s go, now. We’ll better be by his side”.

_What for? To say him goodbye if…_

Hanzo shivered and banned the thought from his mind. He wasn’t calmer, but he was back in control of his body and emotions. Genji crouched, his hand hovering on the Elder Scroll, and hesitated.

“This… this is it. The thing you were looking for”, he whispered reverently. Hanzo nodded.

“You can feel it too”.

“A bit. It’s loud for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes”. Hanzo took the Scroll before Genji could touch it, and he was sure he wasn’t imagining the relief on his brother’s face.

By the time they got to the secret entrance behind Riften, they started to run, and Hanzo couldn’t tell who was the first to sprint. They darted through the tunnels under the city, and to hell with aching muscles and blurred thoughts and the horses, forgotten to roam free near the stables.

When they reached the Ragged Flagon they were both panting. No one was waiting for them at the counter, to no one’s surprise; Hanzo dropped the Elder Scroll on a table, among empty tankards and bottles, as if it was nothing but a common scrap of parchment. And for Hanzo, it was true now.

Soft noises came from the door that led to the bedrooms. Bitten off curses, a groan. Hanzo didn’t dare to cross that threshold.

He wanted to hear screams and profanities, he craved for Gabe’s harsh remarks telling McCree to stand still and let Moira do her tricks - he wanted to believe that his beloved was going to live. But soon, silence fell upon the Thieves’ Guild’s lair.

Hanzo and Genji stood in front of that damned door for what felt like ages. Hanzo’s arms were tensed, shaking, and he couldn’t sit down. He could only think of McCree, just one door away, hanging on to his life by a bare thread…

_Moira, you’re a monster - everyone’s only told me you’re a monster, but if you save him like you saved my brother, I’ll always be in debt with you..._

Genji waited with him for hours; some time during what must’ve been the late morning - hard to tell underground - he left, but not without one last embrace and more comforting words in his brother’s ear.

Hanzo just couldn’t move. Or think, or ask, or acknowledge the presence of other people shuffling around him like silent ghosts.

It was late when the door opened with a loud creaking, and Hanzo’s head shot up in sudden alarm.

Moira exited the room wiping his hands with a bloodied rag. She looked older, now, her face drawn and pale like old ivory, her shoulders slumped. She didn’t search for Hanzo, nor lifted her head.

“He lost a lot of blood”, she said in a deep, hushed voice. Her sleeves, rolled up to her elbows, showed her slender arms, covered in scars.

Hanzo lost any remaining strength and flopped on a stool, numbed.

He needed to ask questions, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.

The rag, thrown away in contempt, fell at Hanzo’s feet. Moira washed her hands in a basin near the counter and rubbed them on her blood-stained skirt.

_So? What does this mean? Is Jesse going to live? What can we do?_

“I’m not going to lie to you, Shimada. His wounds are serious - very serious. I did what I could, and now all we have to do is wait and hope. If he lives through the night, he’ll make it”.

Waiting. More waiting, with his heart bleeding and his mind going out to the motionless body beyond that door.

Hanzo swallowed a dry sob and lowered his head.

Moira cleared her throat, and when she spoke again her voice, usually so cold and harsh, sounded awkward.

“If you… want to stay with him, if you want to see him… I doubt it could hurt him”, she said, carefully looking everywhere but at Hanzo. “He won’t wake up for now, and… well, you might want to be there”.

She scrunched her long nose and turned her back to Hanzo, busying herself with whatever she could lay her hands on by the counter. When Hanzo didn’t move, she pointed at the door with her chin in an annoyed gesture.

She was right. Hanzo wanted to be by McCree’s side, and the terror that glued him to the floor had no place in this bare necessity. He took a deep breath, straightened his back and walked to the door.

Pushing it required all his determination, and when he entered the dim lit room he almost lost his nerve. The air smelled stale and irony, with only a trembling light on the night table.

The Nightingale armor, piled up in a corner, was covered in bloodied clothes, casually thrown over the mess. Hanzo kept his eyes on this, not ready to look at the bed yet - but eventually he couldn't but stare at it.

McCree lay in a bed that seemed too small for him; his dark hair was spread on the pillow, almost black in the shadows. Like blood in the snow. There was a strong smell of bitter herbs, and Moira had left some on the night table. Her magic and alchemy skills hadn’t been enough, and she had to resort to something less refined. The bandages around McCree’s chest reached up to his neck, and a dark halo seeped through the white cloth.

His eyes were closed, hollow. He didn’t look asleep.

Hanzo’s hand went to his mouth. He shook his head, and tears swelled in his eyes to the point they trailed down his cheeks.

_Jesse…_

He moved to the bed, feet silent on the freshly swept floor, and his fingers trembled as he caressed McCree’s bare shoulder.

He’s saved his life, and now he risked to lose his own.

“Rest, kid”, said a deep voice from the shadows. As sudden as it was, it didn’t surprise Hanzo, who didn’t look up at Gabe. He half saw him in a corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“No”.

“How long has it been since you last slept? It can’t do either of you any good to wear you out…”

Again, Hanzo ignored him. Weeping in silence, he sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at McCree. He was still breathing, but each rise and fall of his chest seemed labored, too light for his own good.

“He’s strong. Have faith in him”, Gabe said, gentler than Hanzo could bear. A large hand hovered for a moment on his shoulder, as if unsure to descend into a caress, then Gabe sighed and backed away. The door clicked shut a moment later, and Hanzo was left alone.

Everything went still. Even the flickering flame of the lamp seemed dulled by a heavy shroud of anguish and loss, and no sound filled the room but McCree’s shallow breaths. Hanzo spent hours holding his hand and caressing his swollen knuckles, centering every sense on the hopeless possibility of those fingers squeezing his own back.

It didn’t happen. Every moment he spent uncomfortably perched on the mattress was thick with McCree’s face, his lashes, his lips - memories Hanzo needed to make and hold to his heart to remember what his mission could cost.

Words tangled in his brain and choked him with tears, and here, in the solitude of a dark room that smelled like copper and waiting, he found a name for his feelings. And it was scary, twice as much when their future balanced itself on the edge of a tragedy, but they burned blue and bright like a Thu’um in his soul.

_Come back to me, Jesse. Come back because I can’t lose you - you’re my heart, my courage, my hope. My love._

He stooped on the bed and pressed McCree’s hand to his lips, crushed by the enormity of this reveal.

The sun raced in the sky above Riften, steady in its daily routing and oblivious of the man fighting for his life under the city. After a while, Hanzo fell into an unpleasant dream, squeezed against McCree’s side; every now and then he vaguely heard Moira coming in, muttering and checking on McCree’s pulse, but nobody disturbed him.

The gentle touch on his arm startled him. Sitting upright on the bed, Hanzo panted and struggled to remember where he was or why he was so cold and stiff - until he saw McCree, still pale and barely breathing. A part of him sighed inwardly in relief - still alive, despite everything - before looking up to see Genji in front of him.

“I doubt you’ll listen to me, but there’s some food at the Ragged Flagon, and nobody’s there. Do you want to join me?”

The honest reply was no, no he didn’t want to move, to leave McCree’s side. But this was Genji, the only living soul that could breach into his stubborn darkness. And he, too, had the drawn face of someone who was fearing for the life of a loved one.

“I’m not hungry”, he replied in a hoarse grunt. His stomach, though, betrayed him with a loud growl, and Genji almost grinned.

“You suck at telling lies. Mom always caught you before you could even speak… come on, brother”. He held his hand out, and reluctantly, his gaze flashing back to McCree to make sure he was still breathing, in the end Hanzo accepted it. Genji squeezed his fingers and led him out; the torches in the tavern hurt his eyes after so many hours in the darkness, but when he took the first bite of freshly baked apple pie, his mouth watered and a deadly weakness washed over him.

He devoured the first slice and didn’t refuse when Genji subtly slid a second one in his plate, and even if eating couldn’t do anything to ease his mind, his body reacted with a spark of energy.

Genji, bless his soul, didn’t try to engage him in a conversation, but his mere presence was a form of comfort Hanzo didn’t think could be so helpful.

They were halfway down the second bottle of mead when Moira came to visit her patient.

“Not dead yet, then?” She asked, cocking a thin eyebrow at McCree's room. Before Hanzo could explode with outrage she smirked. “That would be a good sign. Bringing the dead back to life is stressful, and they whine a lot afterward…”

Genji’s hands clenched on the table, but he held his tongue, and the sorceress didn’t give Hanzo any room for further remarks. She headed into the room and left the door ajar.

Hanzo half stood up from the chair he had crouched on and made an attempt at a step - but couldn’t move.

“Genji”, he asked in a shaky breath, “what… what time is it?”

“Late. It’s almost dawn”, he replied, and he too sounded scared.

_If he makes it through the night, he’ll live._

How long before he could start to hope again? He didn’t even remember what hope tasted like…

Moira came back shortly after, her face impassible, slightly mocking as usual. She ignored the two brothers and casually walked to the platform where her favorite chair awaited her.

Hanzo was paralyzed with expectation and fear, and it was Genji who managed to overcome his distaste for the woman and take a determined step forward.

“So?” He asked, low and lethal. Hanzo, with the tiny part of his brain not completely focused on McCree, looked beyond the scrawny kid his brother used to be and saw the man he’d become. A Sparrow and a Nightingale.

“So what?” Moira asked nonchalantly, brushing some invisible dust from her sleeve.

“McCree! How is he? Why… why aren’t you telling us anything? You enjoy our suffering?”

Moira chuckled and shook her head.

“I’m a healer, my main concern is to take suffering away from my patients…”

But she said nothing more.

 _He can’t be dead. She looked genuinely worried for him when she found us, and fought to save him. Why is she so shady now_?

The shivers shaking Hanzo’s body were so intense his teeth chattered, and only got worse when Moira moved her slanted eyes to him. One red, the other blue as the dusk. He didn’t avert his gaze until a vague trace of sweetness softened the altmer’s hard face.

“He muttered something that sounded a lot like your name, Dragonborn. I had to leave before I threw up”.

The words fell like pebbles in a pond. They echoed in the silence and rippled it, until the vibration reached Hanzo’s heart and crawled up to his brain.

“He… he…”

“Yes, he’s alive and I’m positive he’ll be up and about to pester us in no time. Now take your lovey-dovey pathetic face somewhere else before I turn you into a frog…”

Hanzo stared at her, then at Genji - whose dark face was slowly starting to glow with happiness - then at Moira again.

The woman was hiding a smile in the shadows of her hood.

The night was over and McCree was alive.

“Hurry, Hanzo! Don’t let him wake up alone!” Genji said, frantic and ecstatic, tugging at Hanzo’s sleeve. “I’m telling the others!”

And before he could realize it, Hanzo was running on the wooden floor. He went for the handle and missed twice, but when he finally managed to slam the door open he stopped, panting and forcing back tears.

“Hey there, partner”, McCree said in a weak whisper. “Looks like I’m gonna keep my promise after all…”

He was still so pale it was hard to think he could have survived, and his face was drawn, his cheeks hollow, but despite his unfocused eyes he smiled.

Hanzo let out an incoherent noise and closed the gap to the bed in two great strides. When he knelt on the floor at McCree’s side, he didn’t know whether he was going to laugh or to cry, so he did both. He took McCree’s hand in his own and kissed his knuckles, sobbing in silence when the strong fingers closed around his palm in a gentle squeeze.

“You are a daredevil, stubborn and impossible man”, Hanzo said, leaning his cheek to McCree’s hand.

McCree didn’t reply. It took him all the few energies he had gathered during his sleep to bend his arm and pull Hanzo closer, and he was panting when the elf sat on the bed, but the clear pain he was in didn’t stop him from trying to sit up.

“What… no, you shouldn’t, it’s too…”

“Hanzo, kiss me”, and despite how weak his voice still was, rough with sleep and suffering, a demanding tone made Hanzo’s body melt in the other’s embrace. He leaned down and obeyed, gently pressing his lips against McCree’s mouth - and then not so gently at all when the man’s tongue caressed his own in a hungry dance.

It was as if Hanzo could hear McCree’s thoughts: _I survived, I defied death, and now I need to remember what being alive feels like._

McCree was the first to back away, panting for air and falling back on the pillow.

Before Hanzo could give in to guilt, though, he smiled and brushed his hair behind his ear.

“Tell me you haven’t been watchin’ over me for all this time… how long has it been?”

“Not much less than a full day, and yes, I’ve been here most of the time”. He ran his fingers through McCree’s beard and hair, then stopped to bump their foreheads together. “I couldn’t think of losing you…”

“Not so easy to get rid of me”, McCree whispered, and he squirmed on the bed to take Hanzo in for another kiss.

 _I should know better. He’s still wounded and recovering, this can’t be good for him_ , Hanzo said to himself, but rationality could little against the eager thrusts of McCree’s tongue, and when his blood run faster with the sensation of his bare skin under his palms he couldn’t stifle a small moan.

He, too, needed to celebrate defeating death with life.

“Two teens in heat”, a cold voice said from the door.

Hanzo bolted up with a loud pop, and McCree chuckled - not without wincing in pain a bit -  and covered his face with his arm. Moira was staring at them, her arms crossed and a small crowd behind her.

Before he could snap at her, Hanzo remembered that he owed Moira his lover’s life. He sat more properly on the bed and tried to ignore his furious embarrassment (no easy task, considering how Genji was snorting with laughter behind Moira’s back, or how Sombra’s eyes were a little too sparkly and interested for anyone’s good) and held his head up.

“You truly worked a miracle, here. Thank you”.

“Don’t be so reverent, kid”, Gabe said, appearing in the darkness behind the group. He looked exhausted and pale, but his eyes shone with moved tears, and he gave McCree a heartfelt smile. “She’s already full of herself enough”.

Moira tut-tutted her disapproval, but didn’t stop her companions when they gathered around McCree and smothered him in congratulations, reprimands, questions and witty remarks.

Hanzo, half-forgotten in the cheerful chaos, was happy to sit back at the feet of the bed and smile. McCree was back, and they would soon have time to be together again; now he needed to reassure his weird family, too.

Weariness crept up his legs and spine, and when McCree started to look too pale to keep up with the conversation, he suppressed a yawn, too.

“Very well, you all had your teary family reunion moment, now off with you all”, Moira said, clapping her hands. Grumbling their disappointment, one by one the thieves left McCree’s bed. Genji winked at Hanzo as he passed by him, and Gabe was the last to leave, lingering to ruffle McCree’s already quite tousled hair one last time.

“I don’t care if you’re the Guild Master, this father-son nonsense is giving me cavities. And he needs to sleep!” Moira waved Gabe away, and the man chuckled as he walked past her.

“Charming as usual, my dear Moira. One would expect a bit more of respect for your boss…”

“One would be sadly disappointed, then”.

While they were bickering, Hanzo was left one last moment with McCree. He stood up and kissed his forehead, reveling in the steady sigh it elicited.

“I hate to admit it, but she’s right”.

“Yeah, sure - but you should rest, too, pumpkin…”

“I don’t want to leave you, though”.

McCree nuzzled his nose in the crook of Hanzo’s neck, making him grin.

“Yer brave to stand up against Moira like this”.

Hanzo laughed and took a step back, tilting his head to the side.

“Your fellows will ask me a lot of questions about our adventures, and to be honest I’m too tired to answer them. I suppose I’ll leave it to you”.

“Yer takin’ advantage of me just ‘cause I nearly died!”

“Well said: _nearly_ ”.

Moira reappeared that very moment, her slender arms crossed over her chest. “Same for you, Shimada: being the Dragonborn won’t save you from my wrath. Don’t you even think you could slip into my patient’s bed and have your way with him”.

Hanzo blushed violently and gasped in outrage.

“I… we… it was never my intention!” he said, even if it was only half true.

McCree, behind him, muttered a very relieved “Thank the Shadows for their small mercies”.

This time Hanzo, too, was ushered to the Ragged Flagon despite his protests, and before the door closed behind his back he caught one last glimpse of a smiling, tired McCree.

They had time. It was all that mattered.

The Ragged Flagon welcomed him with a cheerful chattering. Everyone wanted to speak to Hanzo and know what happened in Blackreach, everyone talked too much and too fast - but this was the real world, not the bubble of shadows and fear he’d lived in while he prayed for McCree’s life.

“Let him breathe”, Genji said, untangling Sombra from Hanzo’s arm, indifferent to her puppy eyes and pouty mouth. “And you, brother, should be more careful with your possessions”.

Hanzo, whose head had been starting to buzz with sleep, stared at his brother. Genji moved the folds of his cloak to show the Elder Scroll hanging down his leg.

“Eat first, and then go to sleep with this noisy piece of history, because it’s giving me a headache”. Genji shooed everyone from around Hanzo and pushed him to the counter.

Hanzo hadn’t realized how hungry he was until six eggs, a whole wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread and two apples had found their way down his stomach, and by the time he found his bed he was dragging his feet already.

With the Elder Scroll safe on his night table, its whisper but a distant echo under the enormity of emotions in his heart, Hanzo fell face first on the mattress without taking his armor off.

He barely managed to spare McCree and the mission ahead one last thought before his eyes closed.

Dreams didn’t come if not for scraps and flashes of faces and worlds he couldn’t recognize, and he woke up confused and tangled in the blankets.

_What time is it?_

Sleep still clung to his body. Hanzo grunted and slowly rolled out of bed; his head felt stuffed with wool, as much as his mouth. He spent the next minutes taking his armor off and cleaning the dust of the long journey. When he poured water over his hair, shivering in the cold air, his brain cleared for good.

He peeked at the Scroll, and suddenly the icy trickles running down his back were nothing to him.

_I’ve got to go to the Throat of the World. And this time I’ll be on my own - I won’t risk Genji’s life when I’m the one who has to defeat Alduin._

And the Scroll agreed, planting in his brain pictures of snow and pale wings against the blue sky. Hanzo violently shook his head and got up from his bed, stubbornly putting his boots on.

 _I don’t want to live with that thing one second longer than necessary ,_  he thought angrily, giving the ancient Scroll a dirty look.

He couldn’t know what time it was, but when he emerged from his room he was greeted by a very awake and active Genji. Hanzo yawned, and his brother caught him in a surprise embrace, as quick as it was strong.

“Here you are! I thought we had to bury you for excess of food - but since you’re here, there’s some meat left from supper. Care to join me?”

Hanzo tried to refuse his offering, but could find no reason to do so - and after all he was still hungry. For a while they sat at the same table, eating in silence. The idea of storming McCree’s room to check on him was heavy in Hanzo’s head, but Moira had said he needed to rest, and there was no reason to believe he was less than fine, seen how cheerful Genji was.

“How long have I slept?” Hanzo asked, chewing.

Genji gulped and pointed at him with an half-eaten chicken leg.

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full. It’s almost nighttime again”.

“What? That much?”

Genji shrugged and put the now clean bone on his plate, quickly licking his fingers.

“McCree’s still asleep and snoring like a boar, but Moira says it’s a good sign: his body needs to heal, and it’s easier if he stays down”.

Reassured despite his previous reflections, Hanzo drank some water and hid his smile in the tankard. Soon, though, his thoughts shifted to a darker, more practical path.

After a long silence, he looked up at Genji and found him serious, staring at Hanzo with focused eyes.

“Genji, I need to go now”.

“On your own?”

“This time? Yes. It’s… I don’t want to say it’s Dragonborn’s business, but I can’t risk anyone else’s life. Please, don’t try to discourage me from this, it’s hard enough already…”

With a curt nod, Genji leaned back and balanced on the back legs of his chair.

“Brother, I won’t tell you not to, or to be careful, to avoid troubles or to look out for dragons - you like troubles and can deal with those giant lizards, so it’s all good. But that thing you brought back it’s uncanny. It’s wrong, and I don’t want it to take you from me…”

Hanzo regretted having eaten so much, because now his body felt heavy and his stomach clenched.

“The Elder Scroll is… dangerous. You’re right, but if I carried it here, I can do the same up to High Hrothgar”.

It slowly dawned on him: that was the best place to leave it after he was done, and it was oddly comforting to think that he wasn’t doomed with the Scroll’s burden forever.

“However”, Genji said, and his chair slammed on the floor, “you have a place to go back to. And people who care about you”. He reached for Hanzo’s forearm and grabbed it tightly. “I’m glad you’re back”.

And Hanzo, after so many years of self-loathing and regrets, allowed himself a fleeting moment of family. He put his hand on Genji’s and almost smiled.

“As I am. And this war isn’t going to last forever, if…”

A crash and a muffled curse came from McCree’s door. Hanzo jumped to his feet and smiled like a loon, shooting Genji a quick look.

“Go, you lovesick idiot”, the younger elf said with a smirk, throwing him his fork. Hanzo dodged it and ran to the door.

When he peeked inside, he found McCree half rolled on his side, his face clenched with pain and a glass shattered on the floor. When he heard the door creaking shut, McCree looked up at Hanzo with a smile that looked more like a sneer.

“How… howdy?”

“Jesse, stay down!” Hanzo said in a hurried tone.

“If I’m doin’ it, it’s ‘cause I feel like I can - ouch!” His voice went from grumbling to annoyed. Hanzo reached him and gently placed his hands on his shoulders, pushing him back until, with a huff, he was laying down again.

“Moira would strangle you if she saw you throwing her potions away”.

McCree ignored his rebuke and threw his arm around Hanzo’s waist, pulling him down with him.

He looked better, with some color to paint his cheeks and his eyes attentive, and it was such a beautiful sight that Hanzo sighed happily and curled at his side.

For long minutes they didn’t speak or move, except for their hands softly touching each other - McCree caressed his hair, Hanzo ran his fingers on the bandages, careful to avoid the wound.

“Yer leavin’, aren’t you?” McCree whispered against Hanzo’s temple, his warm breath ruffling his hair.

“I must. There’s too much at stake to hesitate any longer”.

“I know. My wonderful livin' legend... “ His words turned into a kiss, and McCree went serious.

“Will you be alright, Jesse?”

“With all the Guild fussin' around me? I want to be back on the field as soon as possible, it’s going to be a nightmare. But”, and he cupped Hanzo’s face to turn it to him, “I wanted a kiss before you left”.

Hanzo agreed wholeheartedly and searched for McCree’s mouth, finding himself again in the sweet brush of his tongue. When they parted, he briefly got lost in those amber eyes, serious and sweet.

“You’re not going to tell me to be careful, are you? Because Genji said he wasn’t going to, but then he lectured me nonetheless…”

“No, but make it quick: I’ll miss you”.

Those same words Hanzo had discovered during his horrified vigil at McCree’s bedside flashed again in his heart.

“Jesse, whatever happens… I know, it probably sounds ridiculous, but I want you to know that I lo…”

“ _You again?_ Why aren’t you out there making yourself useful, saving children and so on?” Moira’s harsh voice came from the door, and Hanzo jumped on the bed.

“I was… about to leave anyway, I didn’t mean to interfere with your job”.

“And yet you’re doing it. Go, I need to change his bandages - and to prepare some more potions, since someone here is so clumsy he can’t help but throw them away!”

McCree’s arm slid from Hanzo’s waist, leaving him colder and more lonely. Ignoring Moira’s arrogant stare and his own burning ears, Hanzo stooped to kiss McCree’s forehead once last time.

_I love you, but I can’t tell you now. Not like this. But these words are something I’ll come back for._

Moira snickered at him when he walked toward her, but Hanzo didn’t let her intimidate him.

“You have my utter gratitude, Moira, because even if your methods are questionable, the two people I care the most about are alive because of you. Don’t make me regret this”.

“So polite and well-mannered, you’re adorable”, and she chuckled, running her long nails on Hanzo’s cheek. Not a pleasant sensation at all: they felt like talons. “Now leave. By the time you come back, the boy will be insufferable. And very much alive”.

And on this last reassuring note, Hanzo left for good. With his old armor and his quiver full, with the Elder Scroll slung on his shoulders and his heart full of love he couldn’t express, he took one of the Guild’s horses without asking for Gabe’s permission and rode to Ivarstead.

  


 

The path to High Hrothgar was steeper and harder than ever, a long dream of sparse grass and melting snow. Hanzo was alone, but it was different now: he was not lonely now, and not just from the constant humming of the Elder Scroll on his back.

As he walked up the thousands of steps to the temple, he realized that the mountain meant a lot to him - his personal growth was written in the rocks and trees around him, those same elements that saw him climb up the way burneded with doubts the first time, and terrified by his responsibilities the second. This time, the third, he was crushed by the supernatural reality he carried on his shoulders, but every step made his resolve stronger.

_I have to do it. It’s my duty, my burden, I owe this much to those I love and even more to those I hurt in my life. If atonement is possible for me, it goes through this ordeal._

No more uncertainties: he was going to see the end of this tale. It was his destiny.

The sky was a delicate pink when he reached the temple. Master Arngeir, as usual, welcomed him at the door, but they wasted no time in greetings and pleasantries: the Greybeard’s eyes went straight to the Elder Scroll and narrowed to slits of distrust and fear.

Hanzo found in his heart no words to reassure him. He had a mission, and whatever happened after was not something he could think of at the moment. They shared a long, silent look, filled to the brim with concern and expectations.

 _You proved worthy so far_ , the old man seemed to say, his grey eyes sparkling in the shadows. _I pray the skies you will keep on this same path, Dragonborn._

And in the same silence, Hanzo bowed his head. It was enough - it had to be enough, since he, too, didn’t know what awaited him at the top of the mountain.

The Scroll was heavy between his shoulder blades, the strap securing it to Hanzo’s chest digging into his collarbone even through layers of wool and furs, and yet, as he struggled with the snow sucking his feet in, Hanzo felt like the artifact was pulling him forward with unrelenting force. He stumbled in the soft white coat, the wind howling around him and making his hair fly in his face.

He was drenched in sweat by the time he emerged to the Throat of the World, and as he crossed the narrow pass to the top of the mountain the Scroll shoved him forward so hard he fell flat on his face with an undignified grunt.

Sputtering and cursing under his breath, he lifted his head just in time to see the rocks quiver to life. Red-faced and somewhere between furious for his poor show and awed, Hanzo witnessed once more the appearance of Paarthurnax. The dragon unfurled from his roost above the inscribed wall and descended in the snow with slow steps that made no noise in the suddenly still air.

Hanzo wiped his beard from the water droplets and got to his feet, trying his best to put up his most noble and intimidating face - a small thing, compared to the immense head now turning toward him. Because alright, Paarthurnax was not an enemy, and he’d had plenty of occasions to turn him into a pile of ashes, so the fact that now he was slowly walking to him meant he didn’t have bad intentions. But he was big, and Hanzo still didn’t know what the proper etiquette for dragons was.

Paarthurnax’s huge faded eyes pierced Hanzo’s soul and held him in place, and the familiar rumbling voice made his bones water.

“Welcome back, Dovahkiin. So full of surprises…”

“Y-You asked for something. I’m here to deliver”. He couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering in the cold, and his words slurred in the steam in front of his face

"You have it. The Kel - the Elder Scroll. Tood kreh... qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."

“Good. Now…” He shook his leg to remove the snow from his knees and squirmed to slid the Scroll from his shoulders. It was heavy in his hands, almost reluctant as he handed it to Paarthurnax. “Here. Take it”.

Paarthurnax blinked in such a human display of perplexity it would have been comic in any other situation.

“Oh. No, joor, it’s your time to pierce the veil of time - the Kel craves for your word, it knows the hands that hold it are touched by fate”.

“Me? Oh, come on, Paarthurnax, you’re more qualified, you know what this thing is! For me it’s just…” _Something that nearly cost Jesse’s life, and I can’t stand it anymore._

A shade of kindness, almost of tenderness passed in the dragon’s eyes. Paarthurnax leaned his chin on his knuckles and tilted his head to stare at Hanzo.

“You still can’t believe you’re worth it, Dovahkiin, and at the same time, you know you’re the only one who could do this. Such wonderful contradictions stir inside you… and I know this makes you the hero this land needs”.

“I’m not”, he snapped, fingers creaking around the Elder Scroll. “I’m a mistake, an anomaly, an assassin in the place where legends should be! Take it and…”

“So was I, but I changed. I chose to change. Zin krif horvut se suleyk. What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

Hanzo’s angry retort died in a strangled gasp. He almost dropped the Elder Scroll and his past twirled around him.

So many mistakes. So many wrongs he could never make right again. Blood on his hands and in his soul.

And there, at the end of the tunnel, a fading light of hope and redemption.

When he focused back on the present, the Scroll sparkles with that same light. His hands, for a change, were clean.

He blinked back tears and looked up at Paarthurnax. The terrible mouth was twisted in something similar to a smile, a fatherly, kind one.

“Go ahead, Dovahkiin. Save them all”.

_I can do it._

I trust you, master”, he confessed, surprising himself. And Paarthurnax, too, if the brief dilatation of his gray pupils and the way his vertical lids closed on his eyes meant anything.

One deep breath, a last thought to those he loved and had left behind, and Hanzo wrapped his hands around the two extremities of the Scroll. He wasn’t shaking anymore. He let the ancient parchment unroll in his fists, and only then he dared to look again.

His first reaction was disappointment. On a background whiter than the purest snow, words and symbols he couldn’t recognize sparkled like beacons of sunlight.

_Here. In my ignorance, I can’t tell what this is all about. I’m a useless…_

He couldn’t finish his thought. The light became so intense he had to avert his eyes: it deleted the mountain and the dragon around him, it washed the very sky away in a blaze of pure white. Blinded and tense, Hanzo almost dropped the Elder Scroll.

But it wouldn’t let go, and in a heartbeat, it swallowed him and entered his soul.

Hanzo came back to his senses with a gasp and immediately looked down - his hands were empty, his feet covered in snow. The mountain was the same, or so it seemed - no, the rocks were sharper.

Younger.

Under a red and purple sky, Hanzo realized this was the past. A sensation he had no words to describe flooded him - fear and curiosity, expectation and dread all braided into the same rope that kept him anchored to himself. He hadn’t moved from his spot but he was far, farthest that he’d ever been, in another millennium, another era.

The ground beneath his feet jumped, and a very familiar roar shook the skies. When he turned around - but not really, was his body still in place? - he saw smoke and flames. A dead dragon, and another yielding to the force of three figures he’d never seen before.

“Gormlaith!” Screamed a Nord with a red beard in an old steel armor. “We’re running out of time! The battle…”

Their enemy, bloodied and reeling in the snow, raised its spiky head in a last display of defiance.

“Door sul thur se Alduin vokrii. Today Alduin’s leadership will be restored!”

It was like at Alduin’s wall, but it was real, happening in front of him. Hanzo caught his breath, unable to look away.

Two more figures ran from behind him - a woman, golden hair and a sword dripping dragon blood, and a tall old man in robes similar to those of the Greybeards.

The dragon spoke again, its voice a rumble in the battle.

“But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin - die now, in vain”.

“For Skyrim!” The Nord shouted. He charged with his head low and danced back and forth to avoid the jaws snapping at him, a questionable fighting strategy. Flames erupted around him, and Hanzo wanted to scream his warning - but then he understood.

A diversion. The woman waited until the dragon’s head brushed the snow, and then she leaped. Balancing herself between the monster’s horns, her voice was that of a furious wild beast, her sword her fangs.

“Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!” She growled before sticking her blade into the creature’s neck, down to the hilt. The dragon hissed and reared, its movement growing erratic in its last moments, and Gormlaith rode it with her hands clasped on the sword. She didn’t falter or gave up until the beast trembled and fell to its side. Only then she glided down the dragon’s wing and back on the ground, where her companion helped her to her feet.

“Save your strength for the battle, Hakon”, she said with a feral grin. “A glorious day, is it not?”

The man seemed worried, even exhausted - how severe his wounds were?

“Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?”

Gormlaith laughed and threw her head back.

“What else is there?”

But Hakon didn’t share her grim good humor.

“The battle below is going ill. If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost”.

Gormlaith clapped his back and looked up to the sky.

“You worry too much, brother. Victory will be ours”.

There was something in their demeanor that reminded Hanzo of his relationship with Genji. He prayed they’d never meet such a challenge.

But he had little time to get distracted. Hakon turned to the old man, now standing at Hanzo’s side - how weird it was, being there and yet completely ignored - and grimaced.

“Why does Alduin hang back? We staked everything on this plan of yours, old man!”

“He will come. He can not ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?”

That voice… Hanzo squinted to better check at the old man, but no matter how much he sounded like Arngeir, he was a different person. The ring in his tone, though, was oddly familiar.

“We bloodied him well. Four of his kin fell under my blade alone on this day!”

At Gormlaith words, Hanzo opened his mouth in silence. _Four_ dragons? On her own?

_She is the kind of hero my land deserves. I’m unworthy of this role!_

“And yet it was not enough… we lost so many…”

“But they did not have Dragonrend, Felldir. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head!” Gormlaith sounded so dangerous, so blood-thirsty that Hanzo almost missed her words.

Dragonrend.

_So it is true!_

The reason for his crazy journey into the past stood just at arm’s reach, and his patience started to wear thin.

Hakon spoke again, and he was desperate.

“You do not understand, girl. Alduin can not be slain like a lesser dragon, he’s beyond our strength!”

“Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll”, Felldir said, grave. The long, pale shape of the artifact protruded from his broad shoulders.

_Wait - I thought the Scroll was only meant to let me glimpse into the past, what’s this nonsense now?_

Hanzo thought he’d been ready to learn the Shout, but this new detail unsettled him even more. He wanted to shake Felldir to ask and know, but he was trapped in his body.

Hakon stared at the old man in horror and shook his head.

“Felldir! We agreed not to use it!”

“I never agreed”, he snarled, every wrinkle on his face a dark line of threat. “And if you are right, I will not need it”.

“No! We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now!”

Gormlaith car between the two, her lips retracted on her teeth in a sneer.

“We will see soon enough - Alduin approaches!”

She was right, and Hanzo couldn’t but witness the descent of the colossal shadow in the red clouds. The World Eater appeared in all of his glory of spikes and cruel red eyes, unchanged by the centuries, and Hanzo froze in fear at his sight.

_Can he see me?_

He could think of few worse ways to go than being mauled by his nemesis while unable to move, but clearly Alduin ignored his presence. He simply landed on a rock, crumbling it under his claws and staring at the three figures in mild amusement. His fangs sparkled in the smoke.

“Meyye! Tharodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan!”

It could very well be Hanzo’s imagination, but the terrible voice he’d heard but once held a nuance of annoyance. Maybe even of fear?

“Let those who watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!” Gormlaith howled, but to Hanzo’s surprise, she didn’t charge ahead with her blade bared.

No, she stood still, surrounded by her two companions.

Hanzo saw what was happening before the air trembled with power, but when the trio let out a Thu’um so powerful it turned his blood to water, he wanted to cover his ears against such violence.

The Shouted together, and in the horrifying clamor, Hanzo understood Arngeir’s reticence about Dragonrend.

It was pure hatred and pain indeed, a form of magic drenched in the terror the dragons had inflicted upon those people.

_Joor zah frul_

Words of power woven with the wisdom and anger of a long lost generation exploded from the Throat of the World and shot up to Alduin himself.

The dragon didn’t like it - a shroud of purple light surrounded him, flashes of lightning sizzled from his black wings, and all he could do was try to get away.

In vain.

He heavily fell to the ground, crushed down by that force that had nothing of human. Hanzo felt his mouth go dry as the words carved in his being, blue and burning. He didn’t want to take all that hatred in, but it was done, it filled him and sated him. His only weapon.

The Shout nailed Alduin down, no matter how much he tried to set himself free and fly away. His fury made the clouds even redder.

“Nivhariin joorre! What have you done? What twisted words have you created? Tharodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck!”

Hanzo couldn’t believe those three were standing unflinching Alduin’s wrath, his threats, his howls of fury - how they would all die screaming, which seemed like a rather possible outcome at the moment.

“You will all feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!”

And this last challenge was what crumbled the last of Hanzo’s certainties.

_Did he really… said he’s devouring the soul of the dead? To gain more power?_

The following battle snatched him from his doubts. With Alduin unable to move, the three attacked him on every angle, but his head was still a danger. Fangs clenched and tore flesh apart, ripping limbs from Hakon and sending Gormlaith flying backward, blood drenching her blonde hair.

They stood no chance. Felldir was powerful, yes, but his Thu’hum was the whim of a child compared to Alduin’s. They were doomed.

The two Nords died in pain - Gormlaith thrown around like a boneless toy, Hakon going in a blaze, surrounded by Alduin’s fire

Hanzo felt his heart bounce around his chest in utter horror. How could there be hope when the heroes were gone?

Only Felldir was left, and how weak he looked as he stumbled back on his feet. His voice was but a whisper, the last resort of a dying man.

“Hold, Alduin of the Wing!”, he rasped, one shaking hand going for the Scroll.

_He’s going to use it!_

“... sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard!”

Felldir lifted the Elder Scroll above his head, a thundering figure dripping blood in the snow. Too much blood.

“Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out!” The old man fumbled with the parchment and almost fell to his knees. “You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”

Once more, the world exploded in a blinding white light. Hanzo’s eyes watered from the blaze, and the last thing he saw was Felldir collapse on the ground.

Alduin growled once more, then he disappeared.

Next thing Hanzo knew, was that there was snow in his neck and mouth. He was cold, he could move, and the world was once more white and blue all around him.

“Dovahkiin! You saw…”

“Yes”, he managed to blurt out, standing up on wobbly knees. He swayed and held his hand out to balance himself, and his fingers found the scaly, hard surface of Paarthurnax’s neck.

Curiously enough, he felt no revulsion at the touch. The old dragon helped him stand up and pushed him gently, the colossal face serious and concerned.

“You must prepare yourself”, the dragon warned him, nudging his side with his nose to push him forward. “He’s coming”.

“They didn’t kill him. They sent him here. Today”, he rattled, shaking his head.

_He’s coming._

He locked eyes with Paarthurnax, and a dark shiver rippled his skin. Without looking away, without checking on the source of the violent energy radiating around them, he took his bow. His hands weren’t shaking anymore.

His reflection in Paarthurnax’s huge eyes was that of a ghost made of blood and ash. The Master of the Greybeards nodded and crawled back to the rocks; there was strength in his limbs, power in his voice, but with his broken spikes and horns he looked like a relic, a ruin of Alduin’s perfect architecture.

“He’s coming now. Fight him Dovahkiin, send him back once more”.

_Only to have someone like me fight him again, who knows when._

It couldn’t be true, but time for fear was over. The slender, black shape of Alduin cut the clouds and approach at an impressive speed.

Paarthurnax raised his head and scowled at his brother.

“You have Dragonrend. I can give you time”, and with a growl that erased his peaceful, wise appearance, turning him into the monster he was born to be, he took flight. Hanzo covered his face from the wind blowing snow in his eyes, and his brain started to work beyond his fear.

_Focus. What did you see? What did you hear?_

Dragonrend was a burning weight in his chest, the words dancing in front of his eyes like butterflies: all he had to do was reach out and grab her. Unleash their power on Alduin.

The sky shattered, and when he looked up, Hanzo saw the beginning of the battle. The two brothers were tangled in a black and white knot, rising and falling at an impossible height with a rainstorm of words - of Shouts and scales - that made the stone quiver.

Paarthurnax was even bigger than Alduin, sturdier and less agile, but his jaws held a strength that ripped the armor from the World Eater’s body and made him howl in pain. Black blood rained from the clouds and sizzled in the snow - long necks whipping against each other, heads clashing, horns shattering.

And Hanzo was but a pathetic little mortal, his arrows but sticks against the epicness he was witnessing. How could he think he stood a chance against a titan?

 _I’ve killed one already. I can do it again_ , he repeated to himself. Still, the words tasted sour in his mouth: this time McCree was not with him to guard his back and fight at his side.

This time, this fight, was just for him.

He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe Paarthurnax could prevail when Alduin arched back and rose above his brother.

“No!” Hanzo screamed, lowering his bow, aimed at the chaos above his head. Alduin grabbed Paarthurnax’s throat in his talons, his fangs descended to tear and rip and destroy the pale wing. And Paarthurnax screamed - not a Shout, just the agonizing cry for help of a dying beast - before Alduin threw him against the side of the mountain.

The cloud of snow blinded Hanzo for a moment. He didn’t see the impact, but the very ground jumped under his feet, causing avalanches to roll down the slope.

“You… bastard!” Hanzo grunted, as if it could mean anything to a dragon. Alduin ignored him and shook his massive head, librating high above him.

For a blessed moment, Hanzo thought he had gone unnoticed, but when two cruel eyes found him he knew he was in for the fight of his life.

“Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin!”

Again that talk of devouring souls - and it didn’t make any more sense, now.

Hanzo waited, caught under the great shadow like a rabbit chased by a hawk. He waited until Alduin was a clear silhouette against the sun, and then he shot.

Both his arrows fell short, and the dragon grinned at him.

“Die now, and await your fate in Sovngarde!” Alduin hissed, flying in circles over the mountaintop. Paarthurnax, a huge pile of meat and blood behind Hanzo, tried to stand up, but his legs failed him. He growled softly and bared his teeth at his brother.

“Lost funt. You are… too late, Alduin…” he painfully turned to Hanzo, a black trickle falling down his chin. “Now, Dovahkiin. Use Dragonrend!”

It was the only available advice, crazy as it sounded. Hanzo tried with another arrow and failed - that damned beast was too far - and nodded.

Alduin laughed again, low and cocky. Just like he’d been in Helgen, not simply powerful, but full of himself, too.

Hanzo searched for some insult to throw at him, to give him a taste of his same hubris, but the only words that floated to his lips were not in a mortal tongue.

Dragonrend erupted from the core of his being, tapping into his vital strength and releasing its brutal power in the world.

The Thu’um hit Alduin in his chest, stopping his glide and wiping the smirk from his mouth.

While the last echo of the words still rang in Hanzo’s brain, emptying him of everything but hatred and violence, the sky went dark. And in the shadows, that mysterious glare he’d seen in his vision shone again, cold and deadly around Alduin’s shape. It dragged him down, forcing his airborne body to the ground.

It had been too much for Hanzo, but it was not done yet. Far from it. As Alduin yelled his outrage at him, he picked another arrow, and no matter if his fingers felt clumsy, he found his mark. Nothing relevant, just a scratch on the dragon’s throat.

But it made him bleed.

Alduin scratched the ground and snapped his head forward, but now it was Hanzo who was out of his reach. His jaws closed on thin air, and another arrow found its place in the bowstring.

Hanzo couldn’t but shoot again and again, placing his residual energies in this last battle, even if his arms felt like wood and his eyesight blurred. When Alduin opened his mouth - so immense, full of fangs, a gaping void on the end of everything - he shot once more, and this time the wound didn’t just make the dragon angry, it deprived him of his most lethal attack.

Not that the rest of his arsenal was less than deadly. As Dragonrend started to wear off, Alduin found some of his defiance and glared at Hanzo.

His movements were fast, too fast for a tired warrior armed only with a bow and some stubborn determination, and Hanzo barely saw Alduin moving before everything turned to pain and agony.

Whatever hit him - Alduin’s tail? It had to be his tail, the only part that could have reached him - dug its way in layers of furs and leather, tearing his armor and gnawing at his skin. Hanzo rolled away, half-conscious and too numb to feel anything but blood leaving his body. He panted and spat in the snow, but he could do nothing - just lay there, defeated, every bone in his body crying in suffering.

It was too much. Even death seemed such a distance concept - only pain existed, pain and failure. In front of him there were two Alduins, now, and one would’ve been more than enough already. He tried to perch himself on his elbows, but it only made him whine in pain and kick weakly in the snow.

The World Eater walked to him, still partially burdened with Dragonrend.

“Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong…” He tilted his head to the side, shivering as the Shout faded from him. “But I am Al-du-in, firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else!”

Hanzo let out a pathetic whimper. The hands clasped on his chest were sticky, the blood still warm. He tried to raise his head, but even this was too hard for him.

“You can not prevail against me. I will outlast you… mortal!”

Such contempt, as if Hanzo was nothing but a half crushed bug under a warrior’s boot - but he couldn’t go like this, not when he had so much to lose. Not now!

He knew little of healing spells, and his body was so weak he could barely summon a warm golden light that made his wounds burn even more. Drinking in whatever air he could, he tried to stay alert and fight the life quickly leaving him.

His wits kicked back in when, once more, the rocks trembled around him. Turning his face on the snow, Hanzo saw Paarthurnax limp in front of him, a pale shield around his body.

“Bo zeymah. Leave, brother”, he said, low and rumbling with fatigue. Alduin chuckled, but there was something off in his tone - Paarthurnax wasn’t the only one who was showing signs of exhaustion.

“Why? Why should I? I will…”

“You can’t be killed. Neither can I. Do you really think I’ll let you take the Dovahkiin?”

Slowly, horribly so, the spell stopped the blood flow. Hanzo was still as weak as a newborn, but he could see more clearly. The two brothers were facing each other, and every hiss, every growl resounded with power in the air.

Eventually, Alduin took one step back.

“No. But flesh is not what I’m feeding on”. He flapped his wings, spraying blood all around, and took flight so quickly Hanzo thought he’d disappeared. In the blink of an eye, all was left of the World Eater was a small shadow in the clouds, and the wounds both Hanzo and Paarthurnax sported on their bodies.

Hanzo took a shuddering breath and, with great effort, managed to sit up. The slashes on his torso were still open, but not as deep as before. He crawled back against Paarthurnax until his back was against the scaly side in a black mist littered with white sparkles.

Paarthurnax chuckled under him and flopped down with a deep sigh.

“Worry not, Dovahkiin”, he said. “I spoke the truth - I, too, can’t be killed”.

Hanzo turned around and perched himself on the dragon’s spikes to regain a more or less vertical position. Spurred by an instinct he couldn’t name, he wrapped his arm around the hard back. It was not cold as one would’ve expected from a reptile, but rather it radiated the same heat that filled High Hrothgar. It slowly melted the ice inside him and took away some of his bitter disappointment.

“I did my best…”

“And it was enough. It wasn’t useless, the final battle is only delayed”.

“Sovngarde. Alduin said he’s.. he’s preying upon Sovngarde. How do I get there? Am I to die for this?”

It was unbearable. Leaving the love he’d found, the family he was putting together - or sending them all to Oblivion with no way to save them? He could have cried at the thought, because it was too much. Failure and sorrow clenched in his throat.

His bitter sarcasm didn’t impress Paarthurnax, who stared at him in mild amusement.

“Wrong. Again. There’s a way to Sovngarde, or how would Alduin go back and forth? A way only a dovah could walk. And not all Alduin’s dragons are faithful to their leaders… ah!” He grunted and sighed again, curling around Hanzo. “I wish I could help you more, but I need time to heal. But try to think: the right dovah could take you to Sovngarde. You just need to find one, and a place to trap it”.

“I… don’t get it”, Hanzo said, his knees weak again.

“You will”. Paarthurnax gently nudged him and smiled. “Go back to High Hrothgar, rest, and the answer will come”.

And so he did, dragging the Elder Scroll along. Parting ways with Paarthurnax, still so weak he barely managed to raise his head in a small bow, was oddly sad, like leaving a friend and not knowing whether he would ever see him again. But Hanzo persisted, and wounded and weak he limped down from the Throat of the world.

It was almost night when he reached High Hrothgar, and his spell couldn’t stop the bleeding anymore. His fist slipped on the door, and a crimson puddle was forming around his feet. Dizzy, confused, he couldn’t even knock, only drag his hand down the studded wood and smearing blood all over it.

He couldn’t think clearly anymore. Was this how dying felt like? A blur of words and feelings melting in his head, words tangled on his tongue…

He fell forward, forehead pressed against the door. And then he fell some more, his nose filling with the smell of incense and dust, a shocked gasp in his ears.

Everything went black, and he didn’t feel anything anymore.

 

 

He woke up hours later, or maybe days, and mostly because his mouth was dry as parchment. With his eyes still closed, he moved his legs under a heavy, scratchy blanket; the bed he was laying on was hard as stone, and his back hurt. A soft moan escaped his chapped lips, and he frowned as he turned his head on the pillow.

“Easy there, my friend. You’re still weak from your wounds”.

Hanzo’s eyes shot open at the old voice soothing him. He blinked until the shadow stooped over him gained definition, and Arngeir’s wrinkled face smiled at him.

“Here, have this. You will feel better at once”, and a gentle but demanding hand slipped under his head, pulling it up as a cup was pressed to his lips.

Hanzo drank thirstily, the mixture of herbs burning down his throat. It was disgusting, but he couldn’t stop drinking, and when he was done he felt awake for real. Arngeir let him lay down again, and brushed his sweaty hair from his brow in a kind gesture.

“Was I right?”

“Yes”, he replied, marveling at how feeble his own voice sounded. he cleared his throat and sat up, and after a moment the room stopped twirling around him. Massaging his temples, he looked down to see thick bandages around his chest, and his armor neatly placed on a nearby chair.

The Elder Scroll rested at its feet.

“So you learned it. Dragonrend”, Arngeir said, uncertain. “I shouldn’t ask you, since it’s forbidden knowledge, but I need to…”

“I learned it, and I must apologize. Now I see why you were so reluctant in speaking of it”. The more he spoke, the clearer his mind became. He accepted another dose of potion, and he felt like himself again.

For a while, Arngeir didn’t speak. He stared at the thin window behind Hanzo and the pale light of dawn coming through it.

“What will you do with the Elder Scroll, Dragonborn? Have you decided?”

Hanzo swallowed. The memory of the power the artifact held was still too vivid in his mind - a power no one should claim.

“The Blades of course will want it for them, and I shiver at the thought. The College of Winterhold would do anything to claim it, but then again, it would be…”

“Have it”, Hanzo interrupted him. “You. The Greybeards”.

The phrase left his chest before he could think it twice. Arngeir blinked and stared at him in utter disbelief.

“ _What_?”

Hanzo sat up straight. The wounds itched and several of his muscles felt badly strained, but he was very much alive, and more attentive with every waking moment.

“Listen, you’re right. The Elder Scroll is an abomination, an object of such power it could rip our world in two. It’s not something I’d want to put in the wrong hands - and yours, Arngeir, are the only ones I’d trust with it”.

“No! It can’t stay here, it’s…”

“Didn’t you tell me that the Greybeards pursue peace above everything else? Keep it here, sheltered, safe. Keep it from anyone who would use it as a weapon and let the world forget about it”. He looked at the Greybeard’s stern face, where shock and denial battled. “I don’t want it, and it should never be used again”.

“Dragonborn, what you’re asking of us is… unprecedented. It requires a lot of trust on both sides”.

“I trust you. I trust Paarthurnax and owe him my life. Can you do the same? I just… I don’t want anything to do with the Elder Scroll. Please”.

For a long time, Arngeir just stared at him, lost in his thoughts, and Hanzo bore his stare unflinching. Eventually, the old man cracked a crooked smile and shook his head.

“You’re a brave man, Dragonborn. A valiant one. Your request is appropriate, and I don’t think my brothers will disagree with me, should I suggest we hide the Elder Scroll here”.

Hanzo fell back against the pillow and covered his eyes with his arm, a fit of hysterical laughter making his ribs hurt.

“One less thing to worry about, and I’ll never be able to express my gratitude properly. The way is still long, though…”

“Paarthurnax told us of your fight, he was… impressed”.

“And now I only have to find a dragon and trap him. Piece of cake…” he said with a hint of angry sarcasm.

“I have faith in you. You took Dragonrend in you and left unscathed, its hatred is not rooting inside you. I daresay there’s nothing you can’t do, and with the right amount of research you will find what you’re looking for”.

Hanzo sighed and squeezed his eyes against his arm.

He had no idea where to start from. How do you catch a dragon? Killing one was a thing, but keeping it alive and bound… he couldn’t think of a chain big enough.

Flashes of all the towns he’d ever visited flickered in his memory. Riften, of course, where the promise of welcoming hands and fiery kisses warmed his heart, but also Windhelm, the bane of his own people. Winterhold was little more than ruins, and he really didn’t want to visit Falkreath - the tomb of his past - or Dawnstar - a living menace - ever again. The Dark Brotherhood was nothing for him.

The realization dawned on him as slowly and steadily as the morning sun.

So simple and yet so incredible.

Hanzo let his arm slip from his face and slowly turned to look at Arngeir. The Greybeard was still speaking vaguely, but he couldn’t hear him.

He threw his bare legs off the bed, dragging the blankets with him, and grabbed Arngeir’s arm.

“Dragonborn! What…”

“Whiterun. Arngeir, Dragonsreach… that’s not just a name, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOLD YOU it was going to be fine! Well, mostly fine, those two have a tendency to lose blood. Good for them there's always someone ready to patch them up, be it a gentle old monk or a smug redhead who will never admit she cares about her co-workers.
> 
> Once again (will I ever stop doing this? International studies say no) thank you all for being there and enjoying my literal fangirling <3


	14. Hir arkh men

The late summer sun was hot on the back of his neck, but not remotely as hot as the sight he basked in whenever he looked up.

Zenyatta was perfect on his own, but now, with his robes rolled up to his hips and his face, usually so serene, flushed red and his lips parted around gentle moans, he was incredible. Genji closed his fingers on the priest’s thighs and ran the flat of his tongue up his cock, swallowing it down without ever breaking eye contact with Zenyatta.

“Oh, Mother almighty…”

A chuckle trembled in Genji’s throat, now rather busy accommodating the other’s erection and clenching lightly with every bob of his head. Zenyatta stood motionless, his fist to his mouth to stifle his gasps, and looked at Genji with liquid, unfocused eyes. Now more than ever they looked like pools of molten gold, the black of his blown pupils almost eclipsing the iris.

Genji sucked him slowly, taking his time even if they were in a public place. The chattering of the marketplace surrounded them, together with the chirping of countless birds on the trees - and this only made the situation a thousand times more exciting.

At the first quiver of Zenyatta’s hips, Genji pulled him out again, gently brushing his lips on the throbbing head.

“I can stop, if you want me to”, and he smirked with all the mischief he could gather. Zenyatta almost laughed, but his face didn’t seem to cooperate properly - he gaped for a moment and licked his lips, raising a hand to cup Genji’s face.

“Why? Because we’re in the back of the Temple at midday, and this could put us both in trouble?” His long fingers sunk into Genji’s hair, and he winked. “These are all extremely good reasons _not_ to stop, if - _ah!_ ”

Genji silenced him by going down again. His hands slipped under the flowing robes and he grabbed Zenyatta’s ass, pushing him forward until he was half choking on him. Damn that priest’s self-control… and damn Genji’s own eagerness. He had been the first to fall during their quickie, and now he was determined to return the favor.

The hand in his hair balled into a fist and pulled, and Genji gave in to the rhythm Zenyatta started to pose. The languid movements of his hips grew rougher, the lean muscles of his stomach tensed.

“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t you be patrolling the walls to see… lady Mara have mercy, Genji, do that again”, Zenyatta groaned, falling back against the wall and shivering when Genji went down to the base once more, his finger rubbing and teasing the still pliant hole. “To see if your brother comes back?”

“Mh-hm”, Genji nodded, emphasizing the movement to meet Zenyatta’s needs.

“Oh, alright - you’re good, my Sparrow, you’re so good - and… and…” His voice lowered to a deep panting, and when Genji stared back at him he saw there was no more trace of control on his sweet face. Only lust, and his own cock, sated but still half hard, twitched at the sight. “Is Jesse alright?”

“Mh!” Genji muttered. His finger breached in - Zenyatta was still slick with oil, and he slipped in with no effort. This turned the priest’s question into a loud gasp; he stooped over Genji and gave in to the heat of the moment, bucking in his mouth and pulling his hair hard enough to make his eyes water.

 _Maybe we have time for a second round_ , Genji thought, moaning back at the burning in his scalp and burying his nose in the soft hairs at the base of Zenyatta’s cock.

“I… I take he’s doing better. Great news, I was worried - Genji, please, don’t stop now, just… don’t do it…”

Genji hooked his finger; he knew perfectly well where to press and how much Zenyatta could come undone for something so simple, and this time, too, he wasn’t disappointed. The long legs gave way, and Zenyatta almost fell forward, letting go of Genji’s hair and perching on his shoulder.

Tears prickled at the corner of Genji’s eyes, and controlling his gag reflex was getting hard, but for nothing in the world he would have stopped. Not when Zenyatta whispered his name in awed gasps and fucked his face as if they were the only people left on Tamriel.

His orgasm caught Genji by surprise. Zenyatta’s voice cracked in a deep growl and he tensed like a bowstring, twisting the fabric of Genji’s shirt in his fists and giving one last thrust that shook him all over.

Genji let out a small muffled sound and swallowed without even thinking twice. And then he swallowed again, more consciously, his eyes grinning in Zenyatta’s darkened ones.

One last shiver shook the priest, and with a happy sigh he fell back against the wall.

Genji lost no time. He jumped to his feet and adjusted the definite bulge of his own erection in his pants, not the best of ideas since that practical contact reminded him of how much he would have liked to steal some more time with Zenyatta.

The priest, even if his face was still flushed and his tunic all crumpled, proved to have quicker reflexes. Before Genji could wipe his mouth he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, languid kiss.

Breathless, Genji surrendered gladly and his brain started to search for a place more suited than the courtyard of a temple for their meetings.

He enjoyed the tongue dancing with his own a moment more, and with it the thrill of the risk of being found, then gently broke from the kiss and leaned his forehead against the priest’s.

“What if I managed to kick everyone out of the Ragged Flagon for a couple of hours? Would you join me?”

“Tempting”, Zenyatta said, taking Genji’s chin in his palm and running his thumb on his lower lip. “You’re so pretty in your knees, Sparrow…”

Those teasing words in such a gentle voice had a devastating effect on his already raging arousal, and Genji leaned in Zenyatta’s touch.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

“But going back to your question, I would love to join you”. Another kiss, as light as a butterfly, and Zenyatta became once more the sweet priest everyone knew. Only with his cheeks a bit redder than usual. “Isn’t your brother back yet? I’d hate to take time from your promising reconciliation…”

“No, and it’s taking longer than I expected”, he admitted with a sigh. Concern burned in the pit of his stomach, but Zenyatta was a special soul. He took his hand and took him, in a perfectly respectable fashion, to the nearest bench.

“Do you wish to talk?”

“With you? Always. It’s my favorite thing to do with you - unbelievable, I know, but you’re the only person I can open up to with no reserves. I have friends, but you are… you…” He shrugged, at loss of words, and just lifted Zenyatta’s dark hand to kiss his fingers.

“It is the same for me. Not that the other activities are less satisfying, mind you!” Zenyatta caressed Genji’s hair back. “Come on, tell me what’s tormenting you”.

“It’s nothing new, really”, Genji said, even if he knew he was going to pour his heart out on the priest once more. “But according to my calculation, Hanzo should’ve been back already, and I’m too chicken to take my horse and patrol the road to Ivarstead. I could find his body, and…”

“Genji, my love, why are you being so negative? No, no, come here”, and he pulled him closer until their lashes were intertwined. “He needs you to believe in him”.

“I’m scared, Zen…”

“That’s because you have a good heart and something precious to lose. WOuld it help if I said that I’ve been praying for Hanzo all this time, even if I don’t know him yet?”

This could’ve brought tears to Genji’s eyes. He took a shuddering breath and brushed the tip of his nose against Zenyatta’s.

“I don’t deserve someone as pure as you…”

“Hope is all I have to offer you. Hope and love, and if I know something of Mara’s ways, these are no little gifts”.

Genji needed another kiss, but now that the haze of lust was subsiding he knew better than to put Zenyatta in further trouble. Sitting here, in the shade of the quivering leaves on a cool bench, their hands gently joined, was enough.

“Will you pray for me, too?”

“I always do, dearest”. Zenyatta took Genji’s head in his hands and lowered it to kiss his brow. “And whenever you’ll need me, I…”

The bells sang from the Temple, a clear and silvery sound that wrapped them both.

“You’ll better go”, Genji whispered, forcing himself to pull back and get up.

“And you, too. News will come in due time, Sparrow: you need to have faith”.

Zenyatta blinked like a cat and turned to the temple; Genji didn’t try to stop him, basking in the light footsteps and how the warm robe clung to the slender body. Once by the door, Zenyatta looked at him one last time, his smile as pure and sacred as the sun itself, and disappeared into the shadows.

For some time, Genji lingered by the Temple, not because he thought Zenyatta would come back anytime soon - he had his duties, and Genji would never dare to take him from Mara’s service - but because there was peace, here. The hope to go back to the Ratway and find Hanzo alive and well didn’t sound as impossible as what the shadows suggested. Eventually, though, he stretched and turned on his heels, whistling his way back to the Guild’s lair.

After all, Zenyatta was right. It was fine to be worried about Hanzo, it was normal, but only time would tell the outcome of his adventures. So it was with a lighter heart that he dodged skeevers and traps on his way back to the Ragged Flagon.

He didn’t expect to meet anyone in the tunnels - it was too early or too late, depending on the points of view, to find many fellows at home - so when a soft rustling reached his ears he stopped abruptly.

Not that it worried him: many renegades chose to end their days in the Ratway, either to escape madness or the law, and none of them had ever posed a threat to him, no matter how aggressive they were. But there was something off about the nature of sounds he heard.

He frowned and tiptoed to the nearest corner, hesitating a moment before taking a look. That sounded very much like someone… _kissing?_

He rolled his eyes and bit the tip of his tongue not to laugh. There was another category of people that sometimes found shelter in the Ratway, his favorite: young lovers with nowhere to go to express their passion. They filled him with tenderness, and he always wished he could just pay them a room at the inn to spare them the discomfort of making out in the dark and damp.

_Well, let them be, they’re not hurting anyone, and at least here no one will disturb them._

He didn’t want to interrupt, and after all, there were many other ways to reach the Flagon for those who knew the Ratway like he did, so he silently turned on his heels and quietly walked away.

Even with the best intentions, he didn’t make it very far.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, darlin’...”

_Oh no._

It was impossible not to recognize McCree’s drawl, and Genji had spent the last weeks watching him go from fussy patient to broody and lovesick, spending more time than his still healing wounds allowed patrolling the walls. Waiting and staring at the horizon. He was such a devastating - and frankly unnerving - sight that everyone had taken turns in offering him a drink, sighing inwardly anytime booze kicked in and made him vent about how much he loved Hanzo and how desperate he was for not being able to go with him.

This made rather clear who the other person involved was, and Genji bit his lip not to squeal in relief. He walked back to the corner on silent feet and peeked out.

He regretted it immediately, because the last thing he wanted was to catch them in the act, or nearly so. In front of him stood a tangle of limbs and tongues rutting against the wall, and for what he could see - and he really didn’t want to look, thank you very much - Hanzo was in good enough shape to wrestle with McCree’s belt in search for a way down his pants.

And alright, seeing his brother alive and back home was exactly what he needed to make his day even better, but since he was no voyeur he was determined not to hesitate any longer.

He strode out of his corner and barely managed to control his smile as he approached the couple in deliberately loud steps.

“Nocturnal’s sacred tits, let him breathe! He’s still recovering!” He blurted out in a weak parody of a stern tone.

Hanzo and McCree parted with a loud _pop_ and they both stared at him, dumbstruck.

Hanzo was alive, and his tousled hair and flushed face were an oddly hilarious sight - but before Genji could tap into his dirtiest humor he noticed his brother’s shirt was opened down to his waist. Underneath, a thick layer of bandages was wrapped around his waist and chest.

Genji felt suddenly weak and forgot everything. He ignored McCree’s snort and reached Hanzo in two jumps, taking his shoulders and shaking him a bit.

“You’re wounded”, he said, low and angry.

“Er - I’m happy to see you too, Genji, but could you…”

“Who did it? Who do I need to kill?”

Something softened on Hanzo’s quite shocked features. He smiled despite his disheveled state, winking swiftly at McCree, and squeezed Genji’s forearms.

“If you’re so eager to kill Alduin on my behalf you’re more than welcome, Sparrow…”

The name clashed against Genji’s ears, too big and scary to be true. He gaped and shook his head as he thoroughly checked on his brother: he’d been wounded, yes, and taken care of. Only a faint pink halo revealed where the wound was, and all in all he looked healthy enough, even if worn from the long journey.

McCree reacted before him.

“What? Alduin? You… you fought Alduin?”

“Well, yes, I…”

“I can’t believe it”, Genji said, glaring at McCree. “You see him come back after days and you don’t even ask him what happened? What did you do, just shoved your tongue down his throat?”

“Look who’s talking! At least twenty people saw you blow the priest behind the temple - well, not really, just Sombra, but she counts like…”

“That’s really not the point! You should have asked him first!”

“I’d like to remind you both that I’m still here”, Hanzo said, his teeth chattering lightly as Genji shook him again.

“Yeah yer here and you killed the motherfuckin’ World Eater! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tongue shoved down my throat, remember?”

There was a world of relief and joy in Hanzo’s deep tones, and Genji felt a bubble of laughter sparkle in his chest. He checked on Hanzo again and grabbed his face.

“How are you?”

Hanzo blinked but didn’t pull back, his eyebrows slowly climbing their way up his forehead.

“I’m healing well, thanks to the Greybeards’ ministrations, and…”

“Oh. Very good”, and he pulled Hanzo in a brutal embrace. The first reaction was a start, followed closely by a stiffening in every muscle, but eventually he relaxed and reciprocated the gesture, albeit rather awkwardly. He patted Genji’s back and chuckled, but his hands were shaking.

“Hey, I’m fine, really…”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re still in one piece”, Genji muttered, pressing his brow to Hanzo’s shoulder. He grabbed his arms and pushed him back, without taking his eyes off him. “Did you really kill Alduin?”

McCree joined the pile of affection and threw his arm around Hanzo’s waist. Genji briefly looked at him, and nearly burst out laughing. He’d never seen McCree’s eyes shine so bright, or such a loving smile on his lips.

_My friend, you’re in love, and the sooner you realize it, the better._

Hanzo’s voice broke their moment of pure happiness. He suddenly sounded tired, and he leaned against McCree with a frown.

“No, I barely got away with my life. I couldn’t kill him - no one can, unless we…” He shook his head and ran his hand down his face. “I really can’t stand the idea of telling this story more than once, and I need to rest. Do you think I can indulge in the Guild’s hospitality?”

“You didn’t seem quite so exhausted when you were trying to slip into McCree’s pants…”

“Shut your trap, you brat!” Hanzo snapped, but he was grinning when he swatted Genji’s hands away.

Walking down to the Ragged Flagon, with Hanzo squeezed between him and McCree, seemed to settle something in Genji’s soul.

Alright, Alduin was still alive and kicking, so their problems were far from solved, but for now - just for now - he could catch his breath. His brother was alive, too, and this meant the battle was far from over.

Still, as they all sat around the counter, with Sombra listen attentively (too attentively, and Genji was sure she was taking mental notes), Gabe pacing back and forth and Moira checking thoroughly on Hanzo’s wounds, his optimism faltered.

Hanzo seemed bitter. Oh, sure, the story he told was epic to say the least - fighting the great evil with the help of such great evil’s brother, turned to the good side after an eternity of mischief? That sounded familiar, and Genji wished he could’ve been there to witness the clash of titans - but its ending left everyone hanging.

“So… Alduin’s not dead”, McCree said, his hand on Hanzo’s back. He seemed careful to avoid touching the darkest bruises, and to be honest, the entirety of Hanzo’s chest looked well battered. Nothing lethal, but those still red and angry scars must’ve hurt. “And we can’t kill him here”.

“He’s immortal on this plane of existence because - ow”, Hanzo squinted when Moira pressed on his side to check on the deepest of cuts. “That hurt…”

“I know, but if you don’t stand still it’ll hurt even more”, Moira hissed and swatted Hanzo’s hand away when he tried to cover the wound.

“No, wait, tell me again: Alduin gets his power from the souls of the dead?” Gabe didn’t seem interested in any of their small talk. He was sitting in front of Hanzo, serious and concerned.

“That’s what he said. He beat me and Paarthurnax to an inch of our lives, then left for Sovngarde, and apparently I’m to go there to fight him, or… Moira, that was gratuitous!” Hanzo yelped when Moira squeezed another cut, making it bleed again.

“It’s medicine, stop interfering!”

“How do you get to Sovngarde? Aren’t you a bit too alive, too dunmer and - no offense - not exactly a hero?” Sombra, sitting cross-legged on the counter with her chin perched on her fist, was wide-eyed with curiosity.

“I have to ride a dragon”.

Everything went still and silent. Moira dropped the bandages she was holding, and Gabe’s mouth opened in surprise. Hanzo’s shoulders slouched, and McCree stopped rubbing his back to look at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

The words hit Genji like stones. He stared at his brother, and something inside him - maybe the remains of the dragon’s soul he’d never know he was harboring - stirred.

He was the first to recover from the shock and he dragged his chair nearer to Hanzo’s.

“Say that again”, he whispered, his heart racing in his chest. Hanzo rolled his eyes and snorted softly, but eventually looked at him. Scared, lonely, desperate for help under a mask of cold defiance.

“You heard me. I have to find a dragon not so loyal to Alduin, trap it, convince him to take me to Sovnegard and ride it there”.

Genji’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“That’s… the coolest shit in the world”, he said, trying not to grin.

“We were gettin’ pretty good at killin’ dragons, but this is quite the challenge”, McCree said, his hand on the back of Hanzo’s neck. And Genji was pretty sure his brother was eagerly leaning into that touch. “Where do we start?”

 _We_. And oh, how right McCree was - Hanzo was the Dragonborn, but around him were people determined not to leave him on his own in this adventure.

This seemed to ease some of Hanzo’s tension.

“I know where we can trap a dragon, but I fear we’ll have to ask for permission…”

“Dragonsreach”, Gabe interrupted him, suddenly grim. His hands were clenched on his knees, his eyes dark and distant. He looked up at Hanzo, holding him in place with his gaze. “You want to use Dragonsreach”.

“Yes”, Hanzo replied, bearing his stare. “I know little of the place, except it is the Jarl’s palace, but Arngeir confirmed it was built for this exact purpose many years ago. And… well, it’s a start, at least”, he concluded, subdued.

“Then we’re off to Whiterun”, McCree said, and Genji suspected his jolly good humor serve the purpose of distracting Hanzo from his misery. "That’s where everything started, after all, and a good place like any to finish it”.

“But that’s just one small detail in a cobweb of decisions I can’t make! Where do I find a compliant dragon, how do I call him, how do I…”

Gabe stood up so abruptly his chair fell back, startling Sombra to the point she jumped on the counter.

“McCree is right. We’re off to Whiterun, and I’m coming with you. This shit is getting personal”. He turned around, barely stopping before walking through the door behind the counter. “Genji, get ready. We leave at dawn”.

When the door slammed shut, it took a moment for the silence to dispel.

“Why is the boss so upset? And why is he so determined to go with you?” Sombra asked, leaning back on her hands.

Genji and McCree exchanged a concerned look. They knew what was behind Gabe’s words, but they were less than eager to discuss the issue here in front of everyone.

“‘Genji get ready’ my ass”, McCree said, breaking eye contact and standing up, his hand still on Hanzo’s shoulder. “If he thinks I’m going to stand back and wait for you to come back once more, he’s sorely mistaken”. He caressed Hanzo’s neck one last time, and when he looked back at the group his usual mischievous look was back in his eyes.

“What? Jesse, no, it’s Whiterun we’re talking about, last time they threw you in a cell, and the previous one…”

“Han, sweetpea, I know it. But d’you think it’s enough to discourage me?” McCree winked and bit his lip. “I’m with you, try not to forget it”.

“But I…”

“If you could please stop wiggling and let me do my job - you’ll hardly be fit to ride by dawn, and the thought of seeing you two cry over each other’s bed once more makes me sick”, Moira said, pushing Hanzo back on his chair.

Genji frowned.

Leaving McCree behind was impossible. Having Gabe accept it twice as much.

 

~~~

 

Two hours before dawn, McCree was up already. Untangling from Hanzo’s warm and sleepy form had cost him his whole determination, and waking him up had seemed cruel - hell, he looked so sweet when he slept, and Nocturnal knew how much he needed a break.

“He’s not going to let you come”, Hanzo muttered, rubbing his eyes. His hair was loose on his shoulders, his face still pale with sleep and the bandages around his torso all askew after their night together. “I don’t want you to quarrel with Gabe, nor to put you in danger. You… you’ve done more than enough”.

Hanzo’s red eyes, after some blinking, gained focus and traveled up and down McCree’s body. There was still a faint halo around the wound on his chest, where he’d taken that damned dart, but it was healing better than Moira had expected.

McCree basked in the admiration a moment longer, taking his time to pull up his pants and leaving them open on purpose.

“Yer a worrier, darlin’, and this is just one other thing I like about you”, he said with a grin. Hanzo, unimpressed, shook his head and got out of bed; and if having another chance to enjoy that gorgeous, naked body going around and searching for his clothes, it also meant that he had a better view of Hanzo’s wounds.

They’d discussed the fight, alone in the darkness of the room they shared, and McCree had to force himself to stop shaking. A single lash of Alduin’s tale had almost ripped Hanzo’s upper body to pieces, and only good luck and Arngeir’s intervention had saved his life.

McCree shivered and reached out for him, taking his hand and making him turn in his arms.

“I can’t let you go alone. I know how strong and skilled you are, but I… feel guilty, I think”, and he gently traced the edge of a slash that ended on Hanzo’s collarbone.

“Who’s the worrier, now?” the other replied with a tiny smile, gladly melting into the embrace.

This felt right. The world was buzzing with war outside, and the first challenge awaiting them once they’d step out of their room was big enough already, but here there was peace. There was Hanzo’s soft breath against McCree’s throat and his hands, warm and steady on his chest; there were his lips, trembling just a bit against McCree’s skin, heavy with words they didn’t dare to say yet.

He cupped Hanzo’s jaw in his hands and leaned in for a kiss. Fire burned underneath their lips, but right now, all they both craved was the safety of each other’s touch. It felt familiar.

It felt more than right.

“Gabe will have to tie my hands and feet to stop me from coming with you. I can take care of myself, and I won’t get in trouble - but I need to be there, just to check on you from afar and be ready for whatever may come”.

“Is this enough to go against your boss?” Hanzo asked, pulling back a bit and looking McCree in his eyes.

“Oh, you have no idea, pumpkin…”

One hour later, they were ready to leave. Riften’s stables were quiet in the darkness before dawn, but not silent at all. The horses were snorting softly, stomping their big hooves on the straw and blinking their long lashes as a very sleepy stableboy tended to them, making them ready for the untimely journey.

McCree was standing by his mare, a gorgeous, gray thing that reared and only accepted him caressing her nose after two apples and half a sweetroll.

“You have a way with animals”, Hanzo said, pulling himself on the saddle.

“She’s such a good girl, aren’t you, honey? And we’re gonna be good friends - only the best for you, sweetpea, and if you’re good to ol’ uncle Jesse, you can have more sweets, mh?”

Hanzo was right. He liked horses, he liked dogs - they were good, loyal, they kept no secrets or held no darkness in them. The chuckle behind him distracted as he groomed the horse’s mane.

“No doubt she’ll follow you to hell and back. I’d do the same, were you speaking to me in such a soothing voice…”

McCree glanced at him sideways. He looked regal in his travel clothes, the armor hidden by a flowing cloak the same black as his hair.

He couldn’t but giggle.

“I have a thing or two to whisper to your ears, then. But nothing I’d say in public, and…”

“... and nothing you’d say before telling me what you’re doing here”. Gabe’s voice cut him short, and Hanzo jumped on his horse.

McCree, on the other hand, was less than surprised. He threw the reins on his mare’s neck and held his hand on her back, turning slowly to see Gabe glaring at him. At his side, Genji was ruffled and yawning, but resigned.

“Good morning, boss. It’s not like you to ask such redundant questions, y’know?”

Hanzo, for what McCree could see in the dusk, was blushing fiercely and badly trying to hide it behind the fall of his hair.

Gabe clicked his tongue in disapproval. He thanked the guy guiding his horse out of the stables with a nod and threw him a plump bag of coins, but when he looked back at McCree, his eyes were deadly serious.

“This is not some kind of game, kid. I understand your need to be with Hanzo, but it’s not some pleasant cruise we’re talking about: Whiterun, for you, means danger, and…”

“And what does it mean to _you_?”

It was wrong, unrespectful, but McCree couldn’t hold his tongue. He heard Genji moan behind Gabe and ignored him, taking a step forward.

“You’ve been avoidin’ the place for ten years now, and we all know why. Now yer throwing yerself in there because…”

“McCree, you really don’t want to go there”, Gabe said in a forcibly calm tone. He slid his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up with no effort. “Go back to the Ratway”.

“I don’t think so”.

“As your Guild Master I…”

McCree reached Gabe’s horse and grabbed the reins, something the animal didn’t particularly like, as it snorted and shook its head.

“This is no Guild’s business”, he hissed. “Order me to stay back, and I’ll follow you nonetheless because this decision is mine to make. And I choose to fight”.

“This is not some romance tale, kid. We’re going to need to discuss politics with someone who will be very determined not to give us any room to act, and the only reason I’m leading this party is that I know of some weak spots we could exploit”. He snatched the reins from McCree’s hand and kicked the horse’s sides.

“Yeah, and so what? I’m still comin’ along. I’ve had enough of watchin’ a loved one go into the unknown alone and seein’ him come back bloodied and disheartened, and no, ain’t gonna tolerate that again!”

His voice was louder now, the burden of those horrible days spent in bed, recovering, while Hanzo risked his life without him at his side as heavy as ever.

“That’s selfish, then. You’re doing it for you, not for…”

“You got me there, alright. I’m doin’ it for me, if that makes you feel better! But don’t you dare to ask me to wait here again, because I’m too invested, and livin’ of regrets isn’t really my thing!”

He felt Hanzo’s eyes on him, burning like embers in the dark. His thoughts seemed to echo in his brain, hope and longing badly covered in a thin veil of responsibility.

_I’m with you, my love._

And eventually, when bearing Gabe’s stare was becoming too much - he’d hurt him, and he knew it, but he wasn’t going to give up any time soon - McCree felt the invisible string between them vibrate.

“I’m not going to pull you out of jail this time”, the Guild Master grunted before spurring his horse on and trotting down the main road.

“Well it could’ve been worse”, Genji said, patting McCree’s back.

“He’s going to be mad at us, isn’t he?” Hanzo asked.

“Aw no worries, honey”, McCree said, winking at Hanzo and finally getting on his horse. “He’ll be alright in no time”.

“He has a soft spot for you. Had it been me, he would’ve scolded me to High Rock and back”. Genji jumped on his horse with the grace of an acrobat, waving the stableboy goodbye and gesturing the other two to follow him.

McCree regretted nothing. Maybe Genji was right, after all - Gabe’d been like a father to him for all those years, and there was no doubt he cared more about his happiness than about etiquette. Then again, this could be said for Genji as well: they were thieves, they were Nightingales, but most of all they were family.

So he felt nothing more than a sting of concern for his boss, a dark figure preceding them on the road, apparently uninterested in joining their company. The morning went smoothly, and Genji spent most of it chattering nonstop about the adventure awaiting them and how catching a dragon would’ve been the single coolest thing in the world. He only shut his mouth when McCree asked him about Zenyatta, and his gray skin flushed dark before he started talking about the weather.

Hanzo was particularly silent, and soon McCree started to worry about him. True enough, having him by his side, still worn after the battle with Alduin but safe and sound, made his heart lighter, but it was not enough.

“Hey, sugar”, he asked softly, his voice almost drowned by the stomping of the hooves on the cobblestones. “You alright?”

Hanzo blinked, and his head jerked up. He’d been lost in thought for long enough to see the sky turn pink and then a bright blue; it was warm now, too warm, with swarms of bugs buzzing around the horses and making them flip their tails in annoyance. Hanzo was upright in his saddle, his hair following every movement of the horse beneath him. The sun of the late morning painted his profile in gold, and sparks burst from his bun.

McCree tried to stay focused and not get too distracted by how handsome his man was.

“Yes, I was just… thinking”.

“More like brooding. That’s your specialty”, Genji chuckled, unflinching under his brother’s deadly stare.

“Mind you, the Guild’s involvement, while unnecessary since I could very well do it on my own, is appreciated, but still…”

The Dragonborn in a nutshell. McCree smiled at the memory of those first days, when Hanzo had been a monolith of confidence to the point of arrogance; uncovering his weaknesses, and even more seeing him become comfortable in sharing them with him had been what had made their relationship something more than the casual companionship on the battlefield.

“... what I mean is”, and his voice dropped to a whisper, “what’s with Gabe and Whiterun?”

_Of course yer askin’..._

McCree and Genji exchanged a long, meaningful look. They were the only two people in Riften who knew Gabe’s secret, one not even Sombra had managed to uncover. But now the person asking about it was someone who meant love and family for them both, even if in two different ways.

“Well…” Genji started, his eyes shifting to Gabe. He was far enough not to hear them, but it still felt wrong to talk behind his shoulders.

“I understand if it’s something not to be discussed with an outsider, but I think I’ve earned the right to know. I’m the one who must find a way to the underworld to fight that black angry lizard, after all”, Hanzo said. His snobbish attitude could’ve worked as a mask for his nervousness, but not with Genji and McCree.

“Yeah, that’s right, but… listen, it’s complicated, and I’d say very personal”, McCree said, hesitating on every word. “If he wants to…”

“I was married to the jarl”, Gabe barked without looking at them. “Now that you've heard it from me, those two brats can fill you in on the details”. And without changing his stance or his pace he went on by himself, not sparing the younger trio a single look.

Hanzo’s mouth opened and he let out a strangled sound. His horse stomped on the road as his hands twitched on the reins, pulling them.

“Here you go”, Genji said, pointing at Gabe with his hand.

“B-But how… when…”

With a sigh, McCree turned his horse around and stopped at Hanzo’s side, taking his hand and clicking his tongue to set the beast back in motion.

“C’mon, let’s not fall behind. The rest of the story is mostly ‘bout me, so I won’t feel too bad in tellin’ it”. He wanted to lean forward and take Hanzo in his arms - the news was pretty baffling, and the last thing he needed was some more shock - but he settled for just caressing his knuckles with his thumb. “It all started when I was seventeen…”

“He knows this part of the story already”, Genji snapped, rolling his eyes. “You were trying to make a name in the Guild’s eyes and the best idea you could come up with was sneaking into Dragonsreach and try to steal the Jarl’s underwear”.

“I was more looking for some jewels, actually, and you know it!”

“Whatever - this is old news. The juicy part, brother, is that…” He checked on Gabe, but he was still riding in silence and mostly ignoring them. “You heard him. The boss was married to Morrison. He was his spymaster, and let’s say that their relationship wasn’t exactly a public one. Still, they had tied the knot in secret, and they were together”.

“Yer the worst narrator ever, I can’t believe I didn’t teach you anything!” McCree grunted. Hanzo’s eyes jumped from him to Genji in complete attention. “They were in love. The kind poets write about - I mean, what’s more romantic than this? The shadow behind the throne bein’ the rocks underneath the Jarl’s power…”

“That doesn’t sound like those two at all”, Hanzo said, squinting to stare at Gabe.

“Ain’t but the truth, darlin’. They’d been together for years, but things weren’t easy for them. Gabe was sick of bein’ a secret, Jack - the Jarl, y’know - was crushed with responsibilities, and things went downhill pretty fast”. He sighed and ruffled his hair. “I was the last straw”.

Hanzo’s face went from shock to utter horror.

“You tried to seduce…”

“No!” McCree and Genji cried out. Gabe gave them a deadpan look, his eyebrows arched, but then shrugged and went on.

“No way, I’d never… just no! The jarl’s never been my type, and Gabe is… ugh, he sees me as some kind of kid to be taken care of, and I'm happy with that!” Despite his traumatized reaction, McCree was kind of pleased to see Hanzo close his eyes in relief.

_Jealous much, Dragonborn?_

“By the way, I was there, rottin' in prison. Quite literally, since no matter what the Jarl’s mages did, my arm was not healin' and I had the highest fever you can think of”. McCree waved his left hand, the light blue of the spell hidden by a glove. “Gabe stood up for me, and I’m told a quarrel ensued”.

“Some said the very roof of Dragonsreach shook with their voices. And in the end, good old Morrison gave Gabe an ultimatum: either stand his ground and kick this guy here out of his cell”, and Genji poked McCree’s horse with his boot. The beast snorted. “Or be his husband”.

“Gabe chose me”, McCree concluded simply. The enormity of Gabe’s choice condensed into three words.

It had broken the Guild Master’s heart, a wound that time hadn’t healed properly and that still showed on his dark, scarred face whenever Whitern was mentioned. Still, he hadn’t looked back once.

“ _You’re more than your mistakes, kid, and you deserve a chance to prove it”_

So they ended up joining the Guild together, and McCree had risen to the role of Nightingale some time after Gabe, just months before Genji.

“He saved our lives, even if in very different ways”, Genji said softly, smiling at Gabe with affection.

Hanzo didn’t speak for some minutes. He nodded and kept his head low, lost in his mind.

When McCree was starting to contemplate the idea of asking him again if he was fine, the elf roused and stared at him.

“He’s an exceptional man. And a thief, but I’ve stopped putting people in categories a long time ago”.

“Oh, he is. But don’t say it too loud or you’ll overfeed his self-confidence”, Genji whispered.

“I can hear you!” Gabe called back, but he didn’t sound angry, just tired and a bit amused.

“Fuck”, Genji added, pouting on his horse.

Hanzo snickered too, but turned serious at once. When he spoke again he made sure his voice was loud enough not to sound casual.

“Then why are you coming with me?”

Gabe stopped and turned to look at him.

McCree knew that stare: inquisitive, piercing, it had many of the young members of the Guild turn to a blabbering mess of apologies.

Hanzo stood tall and cold.

“Because you have to convince Jarl Morrison to do something he doesn’t want to do. You need me because nobody knows him as I do”. His smile was more like a sneer. “If there’s somebody who can stand those cold eyes and read into them, that’s me. Yes, even after all this time”.

“I didn’t ask you, though”.

“No, but I don’t want to lose my land to dragons, and you’re not the only one ready to fight for it”.

And with last stern declaration, he kicked his horse’s sides and rode off.

“Meet the real Gabriel Reyes”, Genji said. He shook his head and cocked his head. “Move now, Whiterun is far”. He joined Gabe, leaving McCree a moment alone with Hanzo.

“I can’t promise you this is the whole truth, sunshine, but it’s the truth we know”. He extended his hand and Hanzo took it, smiling.

“It’s more than I expected, and I trust you”. He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. McCree beamed with joy and surprise and returned the kiss with warmth.

“But I can promise I’ll be careful and won’t let Irileth or her minions see me. I didn’t want to leave you yet”.

“Thank you, Jesse”. Another peck, and Hanzo adjusted himself on the horse. “But Genji’s right: let’s hurry, I want to be done with this affair soon”.

Almost a week later, when they all were tired from the journey and Hanzo’s wounds were completely healed, Dragonsreach appeared in the morning mist. Without the sun shining at its brightest, the land was still bathed in a pale gray light, and the air was chill, even if it already retained the promise of warmer hours later on.

The long ride had allowed them all for some time to settle down. McCree had been relieved to see that, after the bad start, Gabe’s mood had improved significantly - he had spoken openly about his first days in the Guild, providing Hanzo with tales of adventure and danger and distracting him from his own ordeal. And Hanzo, too, had seemed more lighthearted as their horses trotted through the meadows.

But now that Whiterun was in sight, every good thing the last days had brought along was quickly evaporating.

Gabe was silent, his eyes dark with thought he didn’t share with anyone, written in crude pictures of lost and regret all over his face. A black shape on an equally black horse, his head covered by the hood of his cloak and only his clenched jaws visible above the armor.

“So here we are”, Genji said, in a typical attempt at easing the tension.

It didn’t work. Gabe stood still as a statue, and McCree could very well imagine what he was going through. At his side, Hanzo was none the brighter, his face drained of color, his brow furrowed.

“It’s not going to be easy, you know that?” Gabe asked.

Hanzo nodded, and his horse snorted under him.

“And this attitude is not helping at all”. His voice was low and deep as a storm, his eyes twice as threatening.

Gabe ignored his remark and turned to the other two Nightingales. Cold and distant, he wasn’t the fatherly figure McCree had learned to love in the last third of his life.

He was a leader, a creature of shadows and mysteries. One he really didn’t feel like crossing at the moment.

“Here’s the plan: Hanzo will meet the Jarl, and I’ll provide him anything he may need, be it a diversion or a backup solution. You two are going to stay behind”.

“Now wait”, Genji said, shaking his head. “Did you really ask us to come all the way to Whiterun just to… wait?”

Gabe’s eyes sparkled in the darkness of his hood.

“This is not up for debate. McCree, stay as far from trouble as possible, don’t approach the town, don’t do anything risky. I was serious when I said I will not be able to rescue you once more, and…”

“And I’m coming along. Hanzo is my brother, and…”

“Genji, I think it was rather clear. Join McCree and wait for us to come back”.

A whisper and nothing more. Gabriel Reyes didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed - but Genji was stubborn beyond his own good.

“To hell with that! I want to…”

“Genji, it’s fine”. Hanzo stepped in before McCree could opt for a more pragmatic solution, like tackling Genji to the ground to stop him from making things worse.

The two brothers stared at each other. Wounded affection, a bond too strong to be severed by blades or time. They really had the same eyes, but Hanzo’s now were so intense they almost spoke a language of their own.

Genji opened his mouth to protest again, but Hanzo frowned, and that simple gesture dissipated the cloud of tension around them.

“I’ll be back soon, and I’m not in danger. I appreciate your concern, but…” Hanzo sighed and slipped from his horse, leaving the reins coiled on the animal’s neck. He reached Genji in long strides and stopped at his side, calling him with his hand.

At this point, even Gabe was starting to show some curiosity, but when Genji, his eyebrows arched, stooped to let Hanzo whisper in his ear he, too, stood silent.

“Oh. Alright, then”, Genji said eventually, and when he straightened back on the saddle he looked more relaxed - no, not exactly.

He looked proud.

McCree was about to ask him what Hanzo’s words had been, but Gabe called them all back to duty.

“I assume there’s going to be no more interruptions. Ready to go, Dragonborn?”

“Ready as I can be”. Hanzo huffed a long breath from his nose and threw his hair back. And McCree wanted to dismount and take him in his arms just for a second, because seeing him go always made his whole body clench in suffering, but as Gabe now was not just his best friend and mentor but the first agent of Nocturnal, Hanzo was nothing but a walking legend.

Still, right before climbing back on his horse, Hanzo turned to look at him. A heartbeat and nothing more, a crumble of time taken from the impending apocalypse. All for them.

The angular face softened, and those beautiful, dark red eyes glimmered with all the beautiful things in the land. McCree had to bit the inside of his cheek to stay focused and hold on to his determination: he simply nodded once in acknowledgment of how much they meant to each other.

_The world. You mean the world to me, darlin’._

But the moment was gone, and before McCree could recollect his thoughts, Gabe and Hanzo were but dark silhouettes in the mist. Even the sound of the hooves was dulled, and soon everything disappeared in the gray dawn.

“We should be with them”, Genji said after a while in a grumpy tone.

“Speak for yerself, mate. I mean, yeah, I _do_ hate not going with them, but Whiterun’s cells are not what I’d call…”

“Listen, McCree, I know it’s nagging you, so why don’t you just ask away?”

McCree blinked and turned to glare at Genji.

He was smiling, his spiky hair ruffled by the wind. Whatever anger Gabe’s orders had caused was far gone, and now, with his eyes still fixed on the point where the boss and Hanzo had disappeared, he only looked at peace. When he turned to McCree, a glimmer of mischief added up to his grin.

“You want to know what Hanzo said to me”.

“No, listen, it’s fine. I get it, it’s probably some brotherly stuff, and it’s clearly none of my business - but it worked, so I’m content with that”.

“No, you’re not”. He took a deep breath and leaned to pat McCree’s arm. “He asked me to keep you safe. And I couldn’t refuse”.

A burst of heat rose to McCree’s neck and face. He ogled for a moment - something that made Genji snicker even more - and lost his way with words entirely.

“He did… he really…”

With a last squeeze, Genji pulled back.

“It’s the truth. I couldn’t refuse him, he… well, let’s say that my brother really cares about you, and values me enough to entrust me with your safety”. He raked his fingers through his hair, making it look like the tuft of a woodpecker. “I’m glad he’s back”.

McCree couldn’t speak. What tightened his throat was a painful, amazing knot of emotions he couldn’t undo, but the more he stared at the mists where Hanzo had disappeared, the more a thread seemed to poke from the tangle.

“Genji, I… think I love him”, he whispered under his breath, as if too scared to let the words out in the cruel, real world. But they lived and rooted in his heart, and when Genji barked with laughter he, too, smiled.

“Good to know! You were the last one to notice, probably - but come on, let’s find somewhere quiet. I’m sure they’ll be back before night”.

 

  
~~~

 

 

“No”.

Here it was, the expected outcome. Hanzo clenched his fists and stared at Jarl Morrison’s solemn and cold face.

Gabe was somewhere out of the palace, ready to intervene in case of need; Hanzo had literally zero clues about how he could be monitoring the situation, but he’d agreed to the plan and entered Dragonsreach on his own, under the eyeless stare of the guards.

The Jarl’s stubborn denial was not a surprise, honestly. Irileth, a gray shadow behind the throne, twisted her mouth in a way that clearly meant ‘told you so’. And who was he to blame her? Meeting a jarl and kindly asking him to lure a dragon right in his land had required him a good dose of courage and nerve. Currently, Hanzo was running short of them both.

“Jarl, please, let me explain. Dragonsreach was built explicitly for this purpose, am I right? To capture…”

Jarl Morrison clenched his fists on the armrests and shot Hanzo a look so icy and outraged it almost (almost, because Hanzo had other things in mind at the moment) made him uncomfortable.

“I said _no_ ”, he repeated, his jaw set to a hard angle. Irileth lowered her head and smirked.

Hanzo sighed and ruffled his hair, even if the gesture didn’t go well with his elegant clothes and general - and forced - elegant attire.

The dragon’s skull behind the throne seemed to be mocking him, too.

 _Your friends weren’t laughing that much,_ he thought with irritation.

He had no quarrels with the Jarl, despite their past confrontations. Jack Morrison was a brave man, he loved his people and Hanzo didn’t doubt he would’ve gladly died to save Whiterun.

His Nord stubbornness, though, was turning out to be the fiercest of enemies.

“Yes, I heard you the first time, and your ‘no’ was rather explicit, thank you”, Hanzo growled between clenched teeth. “You have all the reasons to say so”.

“Tell me something I don’t know. I don’t need someone to confirm that I’m right”.

“ _Fine._ Apologies, then. But… see, it’s just a matter of a few moments, all I have to do is gain the information I need and find where the dragons are coming from”.

He hadn’t mentioned Alduin or Sovngarde yet. Not to the Jarl, at least, and in his mind he could picture McCree winking in appreciation.

He still had some tricks up his sleeve.

“And you’ve said this all three times already. My answer is, and will always be, no”.

Only dignity prevented Hanzo from stomping his foot on the floor in frustration. He didn’t like this game: what made him furious was not the denial in itself, but Morrison’s obtuse refusal to listen or explain.

The Jarl was playing dirty, trenching behind his authority to ignore the truth. Had Hanzo tried to do the same, shoving his title of Dragonborn in his face, everything would’ve ended up in a brutal fight with no chance to compromise.

Hanzo forced his breath to slow down and briefly closed his eyes. He needed to stay calm, but this didn’t mean he couldn’t tease some more; he tucked a loose strand behind his ear and composed his face to a viciously polite mask.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t this precisely Dragonsreach’s nature when it was built, centuries ago? To host a dragon. Sure, in time danger disappeared, and the place became a frilly palace, all soft carpets and tapestries…”

Jarl Morrison punched the armrests and glared at him.

“Are you alluding to something, Dragonborn?” His pale face flushed pink,

Hanzo’s smile grew wider. He never missed the mark, after all.

“No, of course no, Jarl. These are peaceful times, but that thing”, and he gestured to the dragon’s skull hanging over Morrison’s head, “tells a different story. Someone, a long time ago, was brave enough to…”

“Watch your mouth, Dragonborn! It’s the Jarl you’re talking to, not one of those rogues you carry around!”, Irileth growled.

It was Hanzo’s time to stiffen. Anger shot through his nerves and he mirrored Irileth’s aggressive look.

“And you do the same, housecarl! Those you call _rogues_ are worth twice as much as you!”

“Enough with you two!” Jarl Morrison bolted to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs, to the point that the guards around the hall jumped with alarm. The Jarl, still very red-faced and with his blonde hair standing up on his head, flared his nostrils and slowly sat down. “Irileth, you may stay. All the others are dismissed”.

The guards were quick to react, and they orderly left the palace. When the big doors slammed shut, the banging sound echoed under the high ceiling.

Once it was gone, there was only silence. A dense, heavy silence.

The Jarl joined his fingers in a peak in front of his nose and looked at Hanzo for a long moment before speaking. Irileth, at his side, was still growling, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“You’re speaking of things long gone, Dragonborn”.

“Gone. Like the dragons”, Hanzo hissed, eyes locked with Irileth. He recognized the hidden fury in those crimson depths, and despite everything, he could understand her.

“Like the dragons”, Morrison whispered back in an inscrutable tone.

Hanzo went back looking at him, unflinching.

“Olaf One-Eyed ruled over this land, and when he defeated the dragon you use as an ornament, he wasn’t afraid to…”

“King Olaf didn’t have a war to fight!” the Jarl boomed.

“But…”

The great doors in the shadows at the entrance of the hall creaked, and Hanzo turned around, as did Morrison and Irileth.

No one was there - or so it seemed.

Two columns of embers flickered in the darkness, and Irileth jumped in front of the throne, her sword bared.

“What are those?”

The answer came when the red and golden sparkles thickened into two humanoid shapes. They floated inches from the floor, flames dancing on their slender arms and around their eyes.

Fire Atronachs.

And between them, Gabriel Reyes approached. His footsteps made no sound on the wooden floor, and he kept his head high and his arms spread open.

“Peace, Jack”, he said. Hanzo could swear his eyes sparkled more than usual, and his voice, as sweet as it was, held a trace of quivering emotion.

“ _You!”_

What shot in front of Hanzo was nothing short of a thunderstorm in human form. Irileth ran to Gabe, her sword lifted in fury and ready to strike. Her quick reaction gave Hanzo no time to try and stop her, but when her blade fell, all it hit was a cloud of black smoke. It landed with a thud and got stuck in the floor.

Gabe reappeared in front of the throne, and when Hanzo - feeling rather useless and out of place - looked back at the Jarl, he saw the personification of shock itself.

Morrison was beyond pale: his skin looked like wax, his eyes too big and too blue to belong to a living being. He slowly, shakily stood up, his lower lip trembling.

“G-Gabe…”

“Call Irileth back, I mean no harm”, and to everyone’s surprise, he went down on his knee, hands splayed and head bowed to expose his neck.

“Traitor!” Irileth yelled again, and Hanzo was ready to physically stop her - but Morrison extended his hand.

“Irileth! No!” he cried out. And this time there was no authority in his tone, just despair and urgency. It made him look way more human.

“But… my lord, he _is_ a traitor!” She stuttered. She looked genuinely shocked, her ears bent back and her eyes round; she couldn’t put her sword back, and in her position, caught halfway through a step, she could’ve been comical, hadn’t everything been so dangerous.

“I’m many things you would disapprove of, Jack, but I’m not a traitor, and you know it. Nobody’s in danger, unless you don’t listen to our pledges - then the whole world will be, and not by my hand”.

“My lord, let me call the guards, you need to…”

“Go”, the Jarl said weakly.

“But I-”

“Irileth, not again. Thane Reyes is back, and as a noble, he has the right to be here”.

Thane _? This is some interesting news._

“He left you!”

“Irileth!” Morrison snapped. His fists trembled at his sides. “I said go, and don’t speak to anyone about this”.

“You’re threatened, and my duty is to serve you!”

“What threat can come from someone who’s desperate for the Jarl’s help? Please, housecarl, be reasonable!” Hanzo grunted, now more annoyed than nervous.

Irileth seemed to consider the instance. Her hand was still tightly wrapped around her sword, and Hanzo could clearly see the process going on in her head - she was meant to protect the Jarl and to obey him, and the two now clashed.

Eventually, with a hard turn of her wrist, she sheathed her blade and bowed, but when she walked away Hanzo saw her peek once or twice behind her shoulder, deeply worried.

When the last of her footsteps faded into the distance, Morrison trembled and took his head in his hands. When he ruffled his hair, the golden crown fell ringing on the floor. Nobody cared to pick it up.

“So hello, Gabe. Do you expect me to welcome you back, or should I throw you in a cell? I know what you’ve become…”

“Do what you want with me, Jack, but first listen to what the Dragonborn has to…”

“Shut up!” the Jarl hissed. He pointed at Gabe with a long, shaky finger, and Hanzo suspected that the glimmer in his eyes was more than the flickering light of the torches. “You sided with a criminal and became one yourself, you ran away and disappeared for ten years, leaving me alone with the burden of a realm on my shoulders - what do you want with me? Why are you here?”

“Jack, what you say is true, but it’s not _the whole truth!”_

“And what is it, then? I’m not sure I care about it”.

Jarl Morrison clenched his hands behind his back and nervously paced back and forth, unable to keep his eyes off Gabe for too long. Hanzo felt like an intruder, even if he was the main reason for their reunion, so for now, he just stood back.

The Jarl didn’t wait for a reply and went on.

“You don’t understand”, he said. Now that the mask of the cold nobleman was gone, his face was pale and lined - not a king, more like a terrified father. “Stormcloaks are amassing on the mountains. They haven’t tried an open attack yet, and we’re decently fortified so it’s unlikely they’ll do anything similar any sooner - but there are skirmishes by the borderlands, and this leaves no room for doubts: if given a chance, they’d gather on Whiterun like wolves on a wounded elk”.

Gabe stood up and waved his hand. The Atronachs disappeared in a flash of sparks, and he took a hesitant step forward, as if forcing himself not to touch the Jarl. An intimate, painful gesture.

“You're caught between two wars, Jack. I couldn’t but come to your help”.

A sad chuckle shook the Jarl’s chest.

“I’m a fool, but I need to believe you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, in front of me”. He crouched to retrieve his crown, but didn’t put it back on his head. “What were the Atronachs for, by the way?”

“Oh, you know me. Theater”, Gabe said. Longing and irony trembled in his voice, and the Jarl rolled his eyes and almost smiled. It was a brief moment of warmth, and it faded quickly.

“Still, the question remains. Why should we listen to your insane plot, Dragonborn?”

Blue eyes went back on Hanzo, who bore them with no fear.

He was shorter than the Jarl, but he kept his head up and his jaws clenched.

“Because you’re in greater danger than you think. We all are, and you’re the only one who can save this land. Not just Whiterun, but the whole of Skyrim”.

“You’re a worse liar than you think, my friend. You’re hiding something, and I need to know everything”.

To this, Hanzo blinked and looked at Gabe, who was grinning with pride under his mustache. When the man noticed this kind of attention, he shrugged.

“I have good tastes, and blondie, here, did learn something in the ten years he spent with me…”

“That’s not the point!” Morrison blushed a fierce shade of pink. “Dragonborn, tell me what is…”

“Alduin is back”, Hanzo blurted out, interrupting the moment.

The words fell to the bottom of the silence and rippled it in circles.

The hall was quiet, horribly so, without even the comfort of the crackling of the fires or the footsteps of the household upstairs. Everything seemed darker.

Gabe lowered his head, and Jarl Morrison didn’t say a word. He shivered and grabbed the armrest, his knuckles white under his fair skin.

“You’re kidding me”.

“I wish I was, but it was Alduin who destroyed Helgen, and he’s the one who’s calling the dragons back to life”.

“The… World-Eater”.

“The firstborn of Akatosh, and a lot of other things, I suppose. He’s rather arrogant”, Hanzo said without thinking twice.

“You saw him”.

“I did. And I fought him, but he can’t be slain here. He’s feeding on the souls in Sovngarde, and I need a dragon to go there and stop him”.

With every detail, the Jarl’s face lost some of its color. When Hanzo proceeded to explain how Alduin was currently feeding in the underworld, and how every second they waited meant one more hero lost forever, he was as white as the candles burning on the tables, and his brow sparkled with sweat.

“This can’t be. It’s not possible”.

“It’s the truth, and it’s what you asked for. It’s terrible enough to make me step over our quarrel and come here”, Gabe whispered, sweet and sad. Eventually, he gathered the courage to reach out and take Morrison’s arm.

They haven’t touched in ten years, and whatever was between them, is still there.

“This is why I need to restore Dragonsreach’s greatness. My lord, I see it, the war is shattering the land - I’m not fighting it, but it’s happening all around me. I understand, and all I have to give is my word and my loyalty”. Hanzo clenched his fist and brought it to his chest.

And he waited. He prayed it would be enough.

“I… I can’t. I understand your needs, Dragonborn, yours and Skyrim's - but Whiterun is my land. My home. I can’t risk its life - I can’t trap a dragon and leave room for Stormcloaks and Imperials to feast upon my people. I… I can’t…”

The Jarl fell on his throne, his head in his hands, and his shoulders trembled with despair.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, Hanzo, but… we need time, and we don’t have this luxury”.

“No”, Gabe said at once, low but steady. Hanzo, reeling in his inner bog of panic and anger, grabbed the thin line of hope that quivered in his tone. Gabe’s face was brightening up like a star, and his dark eyes called the Jarl. “You don’t need time. You need a truce!”

Morrison slowly raised his head, frowning and desperate.

“Good luck with that, there’s no place to hold a council, it would mean giving away the affiliation to one or the other…”

“Hanzo, the Greybeards! They stand on nobody’s side and are respected across all Skyrim, aren’t they?”

Hanzo held his breath. He wasn’t prepared for this turn of the events, but his head started to spin at the possibility.

“They are, but I doubt they would agree to…”

“They could if the Dragonborn asks them! You’re probably the only person in this land that can call himself a friend to High Hrothgar, they would listen!”

“But what about Ulfric? He would never speak to the Imperials, he’s too proud for this”, the Jarl said, uncertain. Then again, uncertain was already better than hopeless, and Hanzo rekindled the fire.

“Ulfric was trained by the Greybeards, and he has the utmost respect for their wisdom, even if they parted in less than friendly terms. He would heed their call”, he said frantically, voice shaky with expectation.

“And General Tullius is a reasonable man”. Gabe grinned like a wild cat and caressed his beard. “It will not hurt to remind him that he owes a third of his legion’s horses to the Guild…”

Morrison blinked and shook his head, incredulous.

“This is… impossible. They will never listen”, but he didn’t sound so convinced anymore.

Gabe reached the throne in two long strides and looked down to the Jarl, his smile now somewhat softer.

“Jack, just tell me this: if we can negotiate a truce between Imperials and Stormcloaks to ensure Whiterun’s safety, will you let Hanzo use Dragonsreach?”

He held his hand out in an open offering of peace and sincerity.

_This is it. If the Jarl accepts, victory is a step closer._

Hanzo infused the thought with all his mental energy, to the point that sparkles of magic danced on his fingertips.

Then slowly, painfully, Jack Morrison emerged from the long gaze he and Gabe shared - years of love and anger and mistakes all tangled into one, something that Hanzo knew very well - and his hand moved.

“I will”, he whispered. He took Gabe’s hand and didn’t let it go. “Make this miracle come true, and Dragonsreach will be at your service”.

Hanzo’s knees wobbled with relief, but he lost no time in the sensation. Gabe stared at him, serious, and cocked his head.

“I wouldn’t send a dunmer at Ulfric’s court, but we know someone who has a way with words and is charming enough to convince a giant to surrender his mammoth. Let’s get ready, Dragonborn, because we’re making history, here”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no, the Jarl didn't take Hanzo's decision very well. But hey, Gabe's there to save the day! Once he's done being his fabulous self, of course.   
> And Genji is in love. And McCree, too. And they're sappy and cute and now I'm gonna go eat a baby seal to feel manly (?) again.
> 
> Ok so I'm currently writing the last chapter, and I think the whole thing will amount to 18. I hate endings, you know, they make me sad. But thank you all so much for sticking with me, you always made my day <3


	15. Hen arkh men

Easier said than done, it took a month to set the plan in motion. Arngeir had been less than enthusiastic to join Hanzo’s plan, and his letter was full of doubts and veiled outrage - the Greybeards were not interested in politics, and how could such a council help against the World Eater? But eventually he’d accepted the Dragonborn’s request, even if begrudgingly.

_ "Paarthurnax has made his decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems. So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak to them. We will see if they still remember us”,  _ written in Arngeir’s sharp letters, had been the seal to their deal.

Genji was sent to Solitude, and a raven with a triumphant message saying that general Tullius had agreed to join the conclave had arrived two weeks after his departure. McCree, dispatched to Windhelm, returned to Whiterun - more exactly some five miles from the city, just to make sure Irileth wouldn’t arrest him on sight - with an exhausted face and a cheerful smile. Ulfric, too, was going to come.

“I bluffed”, he said, breaking from the kiss Hanzo had kept in store for all those days. “Told him Tullius was in before I knew it, and he took the bait”.

But right now, after weeks spent on the walls, staring into the distance in the tormented hope to see him come back, Hanzo couldn’t really care. He only wanted to melt in McCree’s embrace, even if he wasn’t exactly clean after all those days on the road, and forget the loneliness he’d suffered during his wait.

Gabe was back in Riften - the Guild needed some guidance, after all - but before leaving he’d spent a long evening (and Hanzo suspected the rest of the night, too) speaking with the Jarl. When they had parted, Morrison had been as grim as ever, but for the faint pink on his cheeks. 

“I missed you”, Hanzo said, nuzzling at McCree’s jaw. The first days of fall were starting to drain the countryside of its bright green, and over the hills, the leaves were speckled with gold and copper. There was a chill in the twilight air, and Hanzo happily let McCree engulf him in his warmth.

“D’you think they’ll let me come with you to High Hrothgar? The old guys know me well enough already…”

“I’d like to see someone try and stop you. Genji’s coming, too, and I fear we’ll be off as soon as the Jarl’s properly packed up”.

Which, apparently, meant the very next morning. 

The party was ready to leave some time after dawn - a dull, pale dawn that already spoke of rain - and Genji, ruffled and still sleepy, yawned at Hanzo’s side. 

“I didn’t expect this to happen so soon”, he grumbled. Morrison, at the head of the parade, looked pretty intimidating in his noble attire, the crown on his forehead glowing almost as much as his hair. Only now Hanzo noticed they were not white, but a silvery blonde.

“You had days to rest, my pal”, McCree said, running his fingers through his beard. “I’ve only had this night, and I didn’t even rest properly…” He winked, and Hanzo blushed instantly. Calling the time they’d spent in an abandoned barn resting (or comfortable, or appropriate, or anything but hot and needy) was misleading indeed.

But after all, here they were, them all, ready to go for a part of their mission Hanzo considered even crazier than the rest. Killing dragons and sneaking into embassies? A Piece of cake. This was an entirely different kind of war. 

The party moved slowly at one of the Jarl’s guards order, and McCree happily stood at the bottom of the group, oddly quiet.

The reason became soon very clear.

“You. Again”, Irileth growled at once. Her eyes slipped from Hanzo and focused on McCree, standing behind the Shimada brothers.

“Hey there, Irileth, my girl!” McCree said, somewhere between charming and awkward. Genji snorted, but Hanzo felt immediately protective of his man: as the housecarl brusquely turned her horse and trotted from Morrison’s side, stopping in front of Hanzo and breaking the group, Hanzo held his hand out.

“Now please, don’t. He’s not in Whiterun, he’s with me, and he’s the one who convinced Ulfric to join the meeting - can’t you let him be for a moment?”

“You’re never welcome”, she snarled, baring her very white, rather sharp teeth.

“Oh, but come on, I’m here to help! Jarl, my lord, can you please tell Irileth that I’m with the good guys?” McCree’s voice rose above the thumping of hooves, and everyone turned to stare at him.

Except for the Jarl. Jack Morrison, his head high and his shoulders squared (even if Hanzo was certain they were slightly shaking with silent laughter) just kept riding ahead.

“Behave, all of you”, he said out loud.

“But Irileth is bullying me!”

“I’m not bullying you, I’m doing my job!”

Genji snorted loudly and carefully hid his face in his cloak. Hanzo wished he could’ve done the same, but he was busy keeping a straight face and frowning at Irileth.

“Move, you all, I’m eager to get to High Hrothgar. McCree can stay - the Dragonborn spoke the truth”. There was a tinge of amusement in his voice, stern as usual otherwise, and a glimmer in his blue eyes when he briefly checked on his escort.

Irileth was, again, rather displeased.

“I’m keeping an eye on you”, she hissed, pointing her finger at McCree’s nose. 

McCree grinned from ear to ear and swiftly took her hand, bowing to kiss her knuckles before she could groan and take it back.

“It’s gonna be a terrific trip, my lady, and I’ll do my best to make it as pleasant as possible, if…”

“Good. Then keep your hands well in sight and don’t… do anything sketchy”, she concluded, pulling the reins and going back to the front row. She looked positively flustered.

“She adores me”, McCree said. “Don’t be jealous, darlin’, I’m just a big tease”, and he winked at Hanzo, who rolled his eyes and huffed a muffled laughter.

“She will skewer you with her sword if you try to be gallant again, mate”, Genji said, still giggling. “Don’t push your luck”.

“Hey, Irileth, we’re still friends, aren’t we?” McCree shouted, and the housecarl shivered on her horse.

“I said silence back there! By the Nine, sometimes I feel like I’m not going on a diplomatic mission but I’m herding a bunch of teens…” the Jarl muttered. And to this, Hanzo couldn’t but smile.

It was true, the mood of the party was uncannily cheerful, considering how delicate their mission was. McCree whistled, Genji chattered non-stop, engaging in long discussions with the guards and, during their breaks, destroying them at cards or dices (until Hanzo had stepped in to save him from rightful accusations of cheating) - and they all did this because they loved Hanzo and wanted him to catch his breath, at least for their journey.

And Hanzo wished he had time to show them how much that meant to him. They kept him distracted during the hike to the temple, and even when he stood, serious and focused, in front of they Greybeards, they reminded him what he was fighting for.

To save the world, true, but to keep his family safe. His home.

“Greetings, master. We’re here, as decided. Thank you for your hospitality”.

The rest of the party stood behind him. Genji, wide-eyed and not hiding it, stared at the dark grandeur of High Hrothgar, while McCree, so close to Hanzo’s back he could feel his warmth, bowed his head in a polite acknowledgment. Morrison and his staff waited outside, in the snow.

Arngeir spied over Hanzo’s shoulder and sighed.

"So, you've done it. The men of violence are gathering here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving themselves in such matters”.

“A part of them are, yes. I daresay Tullius and Ulfric will join us soon enough”. He sounded nervous, and he hated it, but there was little he could do to mask his tension. Arngeir knew him enough to discover his bluff. 

“They’re already here, and not just them”, the old man said, twisting his mouth as if he’d tasted something foul. “They’re waiting for you”.

This made Hanzo blink in astonishment. He’d expected some time to mentally prepare for the discussion, to share details with Morrison and see what was the best route to take. He swallowed a lump of nervousness and nodded, sweat running down his back.

“Good, good. I’ll have them find a deal for a momentary peace”.

"Peace? I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? "Season unending"... so it has proved”.

“Encouraging as usual, my old friend”, Hanzo sighed, and despite his bitterness, Arngeir grinned under his mustache.

“Anyway, I’ll try not to regret my decision. Please, Dragonborn, come and take your seat: the council awaits”.

It was a weird, borderline unsetting experience. Hanzo followed Arngeir through the halls, with the sound of clattering metal behind him, where the jarl of Whiterun and his escort approached.

“So, Dragonborn… we meet again”.

The harsh female voice startled Hanzo, but when he looked up he was not surprised to see Delphine linger at the door to the meeting room.

“It appears so”, he replied, forcing his voice to stay low and calm. Esbern, at Delphine’s side, looked at him with clinical interest. “Why are you here?”

“We have as much right to take part in this council as anyone else involved”, she said. Somehow, she managed to look even more intimidating, now that they weren’t sharing the dangers of a mission. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as if challenging him to say anything on the subject. Arngeir shot her a very dirty look, the one reserved for previous quarrels never to be mended.

Hanzo didn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Whatever. If you think you can be helpful, be my guest”, and he proceeded to the meeting. Behind him, both Genji and McCree grunted softly with badly retained laughter.

“Remember, Dragonborn: we know more about Alduin than anyone in this place”, Esbern called from the hallway. “You need us”.

_ I need all the help I can get, but this is not the time to show my weakness. _

The moment he entered the room, Hanzo felt every muscle in his body clench. He didn’t know who the blonde noblewoman sitting beside a couple of heavily armored Imperials was, and right now he didn’t care. His eyes went straight to the opposite side of the big, round table and to the two people sitting there.

He didn’t spare the beastly man clad in bear pelts a second thought, and every part of his being focused on Ulfric Stormcloak.

He hadn’t changed in those last months - same luxurious attire, same stone-hard face and cunning eyes. And those eyes, when they met Hanzo’s, went from cold to burning.

“So it is true. The dunmer are pillaging our traditions indeed - how dare you call yourself Dragonborn, elf?”

There was a world of disgust in the last word, Hanzo’s race a clear offense to anything Ulfric held dear.

It only made Hanzo angrier.

“Is a theoretical explanation enough, or you prefer a demonstration? While you were busy shouting our High King off a cliff, I trained to save the world. What can you say about yourself, mh?”

“Watch your filthy tongue, you scum!” roared Ulfric’s buff bodyguard. He stood more than a head taller than Hanzo, with crude Nord features now twisting in rage. Steel hissed behind Hanzo, and McCree whispered to Genji to keep calm.

“Look look, the fabled Jarl of Windhelm unleashing his guard dog…”

“How dare you…”

“Sit down, Galmar. Now”. Ulfric slowly stood up, his hands splayed on the table. His man begrudgingly obeyed; the chair creaked under his weight. “Not the best attitude to start a council”.

“You’re the one who provoked him in the first place, Ulfric”, barked the Imperial. “Have the decency to show some respect in front of the High Queen!”

“Thank you, Tullius, but it’s not necessary”, the blonde woman said, sharp and loud. This distracted Hanzo from his hatred - Elisif the Fair in person, wife of the former High King. His back was drenched in sweat, and realizing how much of Skyrim’s future was being decided here and now didn’t make things better.

“A dunmer can’t be Dragonborn, it would be simply ridiculous. I’m trained in the way of the voice, and I could’ve served the purpose…”

“You want this power? Come on, take it!” Hanzo snapped, the words coming from a dark place beyond wits and common sense. “I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t want to be the one risking his life to save your land, but as things are, I’m more worthy than you! Do you think you can best me, Ulfric? Just give me a chance and…”

“Dragonborn, please, no”, Arngeir interrupted him, his hand cold and strong on his arm. “This is not how you start a peace council!”

“I won’t tolerate this man’s insults. It’s his home, too, I’m trying to rescue!”

“And so it shall be! But remember that the Greybeards won’t tolerate fights under our roof. It’s a favour we’re doing to you, not just as the Dragonborn but as a friend, both to us and to our master”. To this, Delphine, sitting already, let out a snarling sound. “Now, if you please, take your seat”. 

A note of power trembled in Arngeir’s voice, and despite his still roaring anger, Hanzo had to agree. He shot Ulfric one last killer stare and went to his place, conveniently and rather intimidatingly at the center of everyone’s attention.

Both McCree and Genji silently took a stand behind his chair, like dark, silent bodyguards.

Not so silent, maybe, because as Arngeir sighed and proceeded to introduce the council, he whispered to Hanzo’s ear.

“General Tullius, chief of the Imperial Legion. The one at his side is legate Rikke”.

“Thanks”, he said back, oddly relieved. Jarl Morrison was sitting at Elisif’s side, and he looked at Ulfric with open distrust. 

_ Well, at least I’m not the only one who dislikes that racist asshole… _

“... please take your seats, so we can begin”, Arngeir concluded, and Delphine and Esbern were the last to join the group.

“No”, Ulfric blurted out, pointing at the door. “You insult us by bringing _her_ here!”

And if Hanzo's least favorite person in Tamriel was an official member of the council, Elenwen, now appearing at the far bottom of the room, was a close second.

“I have every right to be in this negotiation”, she said. She looked elegant as usual in her black robes, and her face was a mask of diplomatic cruelty. “I am… oh!”

Such mask crumbled the moment she laid eyes on Hanzo. His fists clenched on his knees, and McCree sharply held his breath.

“You! You two! You… murderers!”

“Ambassador, you weren’t expected!” Tullius stood up, and Rikke, at his side, made a great effort to hide her eye-roll.

Elenwen ignored him and pointed at Hanzo.

“You sneaked into my house! You killed half a dozen of my guards!”

Hanzo gritted his teeth. Lying was pointless, and maybe he could turn this to his favor. He lowered his head and prayed his voice didn’t falter.

“She has to leave, I’m not staying if she’s involved”, Ulfric said, stubborn.

“I demand justice! I demand…”

“What kind of _justice_ , ambassador? The one you carry out on a whip’s end? The one made of torture and intimidation?” Hanzo growled, bearing Elenwen’s stare without blinking. “Do these fine people gathered here today know of the secret chamber right beside your bedroom? Or how you carry out your interrogations without an authorization from the Jarls or the Empire?”

Elenwen went through several shades of purple. There was nothing elegant in her now, only hysterical fury.

“You’re an assassin!”

“ _I am!_ ” Hanzo shouted, and only barely he managed to keep the dragon inside him from stirring. It didn’t go unnoticed, because everyone went silent, and Ulfric’s mouth opened slightly. “I am an assassin. I killed and betrayed, and if you think you can find another Dragonborn to ban the dragons, then go ahead”.

“Justice will be…”

“Leave”, he concluded, low and lethal. “I don’t want to see your face ever again”.

“Incredible. I have to agree with the elf”, Ulfric snickered. Hanzo swallowed the impulse to stand up and punch him.

Elenwen turned to Tullius, whose somber, lined face was the picture of ‘I don’t want to get involved’ itself. Before the general could speak, though, the ambassador recollected herself and took a deep breath.

"Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war”.

“Bollocks”, Galmar muttered. Genji, despite everything, chuckled under his breath.

Elenwen shot the room one last, furious glare, then turned on her heels and left. 

“Nobody likes the Thalmor”, Ulfric said, and to this nobody could reply. It was true, written in secret letters on Tullius’ face and Rikke’s scrunched nose.

Somehow, Elenwen’s departure marked the moment to start the negotiations, because the moment the main gates slammed shut, Morrison spoke.

“If you can arrange an end to the fighting, Dragonsreach is at your disposal, Dragonborn. Still, we need everyone’s cooperation”. The Jarl looked at Hanzo, his face an almost friendly note in the crowd.

“Then let it be. What are the requests of the two sides?” Hanzo shifted in his seat in utter discomfort. Killing dragons and infiltrating dwemer ruins didn’t sound that bad right now.

Ulfric opened his mouth, but Tullius was quicker to speak.

“Our terms are simple. Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That's our price for agreeing to a truce”.

“By Talos, the stones on this one! You're in no position to dictate terms to us, Tullius!”, Galmar growled, banging his massive fist on the table. This time Ulfric didn’t try to stop him, and seemed equally baffled at the Imperial's request.

“That's quite an opening demand, Tullius…”

“Ulfric, you can't be t aking this demand seriously? We can hold Riften against anything the Empire can throw at it. Besides, Jarl Laila will never agree to…”

Ulfric frowned, and his dark eyes turned to slits of obsidian as he stared at his guard. With all his contempt for the man, Hanzo had to admit he really had the authority of a leader - he would’ve liked him better, hadn’t he been so adamant in wiping his kind from Skyrim.

“We will do whatever I decide is in the best interests of Skyrim. Are we clear?”, he said in a deep voice that tumbled with the power of a Thu’um. Galmar, big as he was, bent his head and clenched his hands in his lap.

“Yes, my lord”, he muttered. 

Ulfric shook his head and leaned against the table, staring at Tullius. Indeed, the general seemed to be the only person he was speaking to.

“Come on, Tullius, you can't seriously expect us to just hand over Riften at the negotiating table. You haven't been able to take it back yet. Why should we give it up now?”

“Because it’s our request. I don’t owe you any explanation, Ulfric: give Riften to the Imperials, or these negotiations are over already”.

“You’re bold to come forward like this!”

“Ulfric, keep your thirst for power out of this!” Elisif said, loud and clear. Young and slender as she was, she was still surrounded by the aura of power only a queen could claim.

“My lady, your opinion is valued, but this is a men’s war, and…”

“Oh,  _ really _ ?” Delphine said, her eyebrows cocked. Rikke grabbed the table and shook her head.

“You might want to take that back, Ulfric…”

Hanzo took his head in his hands at the sudden uproar. This wasn’t helping at all, he was willing to do anything that would make Ulfric angry, but he needed to look impartial if he wanted to obtain a truce…

_ I’m the wrong man for this… _

Then a touch on his shoulder roused him. McCree was leaning forward, his lips at Hanzo’s ear.

“Give Riften to the Imperials. Next request will be for Ulfric, but Riften must go”, he whispered, serious.

“Why…”

“Trust me and you’ll see”, and he stealthily caressed Hanzo’s arm.

_ But I do trust you, Jesse, more than anyone on this cold slab of ice. And I know you’re speaking for the Guild, but this is the only advice I’ll ever get. _

Hanzo took a deep breath and hit the armrests with his palms.

“The Imperials can have Riften”, he said, loud enough to be heard above the chaos.

A second of silence fell upon the group. Tullius blinked in astonishment, and Morrison briefly closed his eyes in relief. 

Then Ulfric snorted, and there was a world of displeasure in that sound.

“So it’s clear whose side you’re on, Dragonborn…”

“Please, don’t. If we’re to make a deal, there are sacrifices to be made”, Hanzo tried, trying to sound more convinced than he was.

“And yet you start with giving our most valued outpost to the enemy. What game are you playing, elf?”

Tullius jumped to his feet and spat out:

“Game?  _ Game?  _ How can you…”

“Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about... nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”

Esbern’s old voice cut the tension. Both parties turned to face him, and the man didn’t flinch under their eyes.

“Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue…”

“He is with me", the Blade answered. "And I  _ advise you both  _ to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash”.

“Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?”

And once again, Alduin’s name proved powerful enough to turn the tables. Ulfric went pale, and Tullius heavily set back. Arngeir, standing in a corner like his comrades, bowed his head and muttered what felt like a silent prayer.

“Alduin, yes”, Hanzo confirmed, feeling suddenly small and insignificant in the great scheme around him. “I didn’t summon you here for the pleasure of your company, but to defeat the firstborn of Akatosh. It’s no small task”.

“Is it true, then”, Ulfric whispered in awe, and Hanzo nodded. This seemed to seal the deal, because he didn’t protest any further and slumped in his chair.

After a moment, when it became clear that nobody was going to discuss the point again, Arngeir took a step forward.

“So it is decided. Jarl Laila Law-Giver is deposed, and in her place Maven Black Briar becomes Jarl of Riften. The city is now under Imperial control”.

_ Black Briar! _

Hanzo turned to McCree and found him staring into the distance, smug. Genji looked as pleased with the development of their plan.

_ I see. Now the grip of the Guild over the city is stronger than ever - and I know what to do next. _

He couldn’t say he liked this, but it was the way of diplomacy, and he felt more confident with his bow than with his words anyway.

The rest of the council proceeded among many quarrels between the participants - Tullius threw a tantrum when Hanzo agreed, reluctantly and not pretending otherwise, to Ulfric’s next request, and in two occasions Arngeir had to yell at those grown ass men to stop it before everything degenerated into a brawl. It took hours, and Hanzo was a brand new kind of tired: his eyes throbbed, his head thumped from the nape of his neck to his forehead, and all he wanted was to stick arrows in half of the noblemen present.

But like all good things, it had to come to an end. 

After Arngeir had declared the last of the agreements, some of the tension in the room eased. Not in a pleasant way and more as if a terminally ill person had finally passed away. Everyone looked exhausted, and Hanzo more than everyone; only McCree and Genji still stood motionless, unperturbed by the long discussion.

Hanzo resented them both a bit for this.

Ulfric took a deep breath in the silence and leaned against the table, smirking at Tullius. The general didn’t reciprocate, pale with hatred.

“I shouldn’t agree to terms that so blatantly favor the Empire, but I have no choice, under the circumstances”. He pushed his chair back and got up, followed by Galmar, who’d been silent and brooding for the whole time. “But once Alduin is defeated, it will be the Empire’s turn. Remember”.

“So it shall be, Ulfric”, Tullius said. He gestured to Rikke, and they both stood up among the clamor of metal from their armors. Ulfric moved his eyes on Elisif, who narrowed her eyes in distrust.

“You should be proud, Elisif. You’ve done well for yourself as the Empire’s pet Jarl - but beware, the Empire’s loyalty is fickle. They will tire of this war, and then I will be the one dictating terms to you”.

The queen, already on her feet, turned her back to him and called Tullius with her hand.

“I have nothing to say to that murderer…”

Hanzo rubbed his hands over his face and concealed a yawn in his palm, thus missing the rest of the conversation between Tullius and Elisif. Only when the noise of several feet leaving was starting to fade in the distance, he looked up.

Tullius and Ulfric were facing each other, and Hanzo could perceive the sizzling energy between them.

“The Empire can live with this terms, yes. For a temporary truce. Until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, there will be a reckoning. You can count on that”.

Arngeir brusquely escorted them all to the door, and only Morrison and the Blades were left.

The Jarl of Whiterun let go of his composure and relaxed in his chair, his hands in his hair.

“You did it, Hanzo. Gods help me, you did it…”

“Don’t ever ask me to do anything like this again. I’d rather fight Alduin in my underwear during a storm”, he growled back. It was pointless to deny how fed up with diplomacy he was.

A warm hand descended on his shoulder, and when McCree slowly kneaded into the hard muscles at the base of his neck, Hanzo stifled a moan.

“You did good, darlin’. We’re all proud of you”.

Leaning into the caress was a temptation in itself, and Hanzo allowed himself to turn his head briefly to smile at McCree. Now that he looked more closely, he too showed the traces of fatigue - or maybe only now he let him see it.

“And yet it’s not enough. I know where to trap a dragon and I have the authorization to do so, but I still need a dragon to trap…”

“Always so focused on the details”, Genji said, stretching his arms to the ceiling. 

“Oh sure, such a small, insignificant one, this is”, he snapped back.

Esbern, still busy in a quick conversation with Delphine, looked up and cleared his throat.

“I think I can help with that”, he said. His knees cracked when he left his seat, but he didn’t show any trace of pain. 

His intervention rekindled Hanzo’s attention, even if it required the last of his energies to listen attentively.

“Really?”

“You see, I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of the Sky Haven Temple…”

“Why am I not surprised?” Genji muttered, and quickly turned his words into a fit of cough when Esbern glared at him.

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn some of the Blades’ wisdom, boy! Anyway, the Blades recorded many of the names of the dragons they slew”. He slid his hand inside his tunic and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, spreading it on the table in front of him. 

Hanzo sighed and joined him, almost glad the Greybeards were busy with the dismissal of the Imperial and Stormcloak parties, and at the same time reluctant to accept Esbern’s help.

On the parchment, Hanzo saw the familiar lines of the dragons’ dead language. His heart leaped in anticipation: there was power in those words, even if he could barely read them. They made sense but not really, and while he squinted at them, Esbern spoke again.

“Cross-referencing with Delphine’s map of dragons burial sites, I believe I identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up”.

“What?”

Hanzo was fully awake at last, and he snatched the parchment from the table.

Esbern sounded pleased at his interest.

“And how does this help us?” McCree asked, peeking from behind Hanzo’s shoulder. “Are we to believe that you just call a dragon, snap your fingers and poof, there he is, ready to be…”

“That’s exactly how it works, young man. You see, the names of the dragons are always three Words of Power - Shouts. By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you wherever he might be”.

Now Hanzo could see it clearly. Those foreign words sparkled in blue in his eyes, whispered of speed and snow and hunt. 

“Of course, he’s not compelled to, but dragons are prideful by nature, and loath to refuse a challenge…”

“Sounds like someone I know”, Genji muttered, and Hanzo was too invested in the Words dancing in his head to rebuke him properly.

“Odahviing”, Hanzo whispered, knowledge and realization filling his soul. Even in such a hushed tone, the name quivered inside him, demanded him to put all of his Voice and power at its service.

“Yes, Dragonborn. And I don’t think he will be able to resist your call, not after you faced ALduin and survived twice…”

“So we’re doing it. Calling a dragon in my hold”, Morrison said, baffled. A nervous grin spread on his lips. “I half hoped it would come to nothing…”

“So once again you owe the Blades your only chance to succeed”, Delphine said, recalling Hanzo from his trance. Something was off with her voice, too hard and sneaky. “I dare to hope you’ll see where your loyalty should lay…”

Hanzo shook his head, the scroll still clasped in his hands, and frowned at her.

“What do you mean?”

The woman looked around as if to check no unwanted ears were listening and lowered her voice.

“I know who the Master of the Greybeards is. Another enemy, like the ones you’re fighting. I understand why you used him as a mean to an end, but once this is done, I expect you to stop his…”

Ice poured in Hanzo’s veins. 

“You’re asking me to _kill Paarthurnax_?”

He’d never really liked Delphine, but he’d come to respect her. Her request brought back unwanted memories of contracts and assassinations - even worse, of betrayal under the very roof of the old men he now called his friends. 

“It would be for the best of this land. You can never trust a dragon, no matter how changed he pretends to be. All of them are foes, and as the Dragonborn is your precise duty to eliminate such a threat”.

Hanzo crumpled the parchment in his fist and bared his teeth, taking a step toward Delphine.

“You dare to speak words of treason in this holy place. You ask me to turn my back on those who helped me reach this stage of our war…”

“Are you refusing? Because then it’s the Blades you’re turning your back to”.

“The Greybeards never asked me to kill! And I swear it on the skies and on my blood, I’m not your puppet, nor I will raise arms against an ally, be it human or dragon!”

“He’s not your ally!” Delphine cried out. Esbern tried to put his hand on her shoulder to calm her down, but she shook him off. “ _We_ are your allies! And don’t think you’re fooling me, Dragonborn: I know who you are. I know you served under the mark of the black hand, you’re not new to taking lives at someone else’s command!”

A dreadful calm descended on Hanzo. He felt cold, detached, a stranger to the faces staring at him in shock. Anger was just another part of him, shock was gone, and he approached Delphine with absolute, deadly serenity.

“I don’t kill my friends. And if you still want to fall into the category, I strongly suggest you turn around, take Esbern and my sheer gratitude with you, and leave this place”.

“Or else?”

“I’m not threatening in vain, Delphine. Go, before the Greybeards come back and hear of your request”.

“Come, my dear”, Esbern said, sad. His efforts, eventually, succeeded in moving Delphine from her stance, and as she flared her nostrils and stomped away, the old man looked at Hanzo. “You’re noble, Dragonborn. I pray you’re wise as well”.

Hanzo swayed with a sudden surge of remorse. Esbern was a decent man, one he would’ve liked to have at his side for the events to come - but war called for difficult choices, and the thought of sinking an arrow into Paarthurnax’s heart made him sick.

“I wish we could part ways on friendlier terms”, he admitted, and Esbern bowed his head.

“Save this land, child, this is all I ask of you. You have the means to do so, and my gratitude for your efforts”. With one last, sad smile, the old man followed Delphine into the shadows. Hanzo wondered if he would ever see him again.

He couldn’t tell what happened first - if he half fell into McCree’s arms, or if McCree had embraced him and then dizziness had settled in. All he knew was that the warmth engulfing him was the only good thing in the world, the anchor to stop him from drifting away into the horrible, unforeseeable future ahead.

“Ready when you are, Dragonborn”, Morrison said after a long silence.

“Ready? Sure”, Hanzo chuckled mirthlessly. McCree rubbed circles on his back.

“You are. We all are, and we won’t leave you alone”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, I know - so please accept my thank you, not just for your constant support but for your patience, too!  
> These last chapters will be updated on Sunday, and there's a reason for this: just stay tuned, and next week, if you're into McHanzo (which I presume you are, or you wouldn't be here), you'll find a non-Skyrim related surprise :3
> 
> So! Seasons Unending, my personal nightmare - I hope I managed to add enough spice to make the quest less of a bureaucratic experience XD  
> Also, Delphine, sorry again, but NOPE.
> 
> Again, thank you all and see you next week!


	16. Sok arkh men

The journey back to Dragonsreach was thick with anxiety and dreaded expectations. Hanzo knew the time for strategies and speculations was over: he had a name to call, he had the Jarl’s permission to use his trap, and now it was up to him. And if during the previous stages of his quest - one he’d never wanted, and yet his real chance to prove himself more than the assassin he’d become - he could've counted on the help of many friends made on the way, now he was on his own.

Even more so when they reached the outskirts of the city. Jarl Morrison and his escort entered the main gates, leaving Hanzo, Genji, and McCree out by the farms around Whiterun.

“I should go with them”, Hanzo said, stiff and reluctant to get off his horse. Touching the ground meant diving again into the harsh reality, and he didn’t want to be reasonable and tell McCree to leave, for his sake.

“Definitely”. Genji’s voice sounded too light, and Hanzo knew what that meant: he was up to something. He glared at his brother and clenched his jaws.

“Don’t do anything rash, or dangerous, or outright stupid. I have enough troubles on my own, I don’t want you to…”

“You’re about to kick some scaly ass, why can’t you be a bit more thrilled at the thought?”

“I’m not thrilled! I’m just the only living person who can do it - and of course it had to be me, I'm the best at killing things, but it’s still complicated”. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling all the pains from the long journey, and looked at McCree.

Silent, serious, he didn’t look like the man who would’ve laughed in the very face of death, or cracked some horrible pun during a battle. Hanzo’s heart jumped with longing.

With love.

As Genji kept on chatting, Hanzo met McCree’s eyes. The raw power of the emotions written in those amber depths rendered him speechless, but his brain buzzed with words.

_ I won’t say goodbye. I won’t even consider the chance of failure, because it would cast a shadow upon my mission. I’m just leaving you here for the moment, and soon I’ll be back - and once this is over, I’ll get to tell you how much I love you. It’s a prize for another time. _

As if reading his mind, McCree’s face sweetened in a lopsided smile. He leaned closer and took Hanzo’s hand, caressing his fingers.

“... songs about you, and you’ll be insufferable, but I’ll have to humor you because you’re my brother, and that’s what brothers do. You could look more heroic while doing this, but…”

“Dragonborn”.

Irileth’s voice snapped in their bubble, popping the sense of affection and family it enclosed. McCree closed his eyes and smiled - a real smile, as mischievous as Hanzo would’ve wanted to remember it.

“The Jarl’s waiting for you, and you know what the policy about your… _friend_ , here, is”. The housecarl didn’t sound as aggressive as she used to, but rather exhausted and too strained to waste time on trifles. Her ginger hair sparkled like copper under the sun of the late afternoon.

“Go, darlin’”, McCree said. “We’ll be alright”.

“And you, too. This is not the end”, Genji added, suddenly more serious than he’d ever been. 

Hanzo felt his heart swell with a deep feeling that painted the world in gold and fire. He wished he could smile back, but when McCree’s hand slipped from his own he felt like the desperate child who’d kept his little brother safe under their parents' bodies.

“Yes, I… will see you later”. So distant, his voice didn’t even sound like his own. The horse squirmed beneath him, and only Irileth’s second warning snatched him from this moment. When he pulled the reins and turned his ride toward the gates, reality melted around him.

That was not a goodbye. It had to be something less, because it felt wrong and anticlimactic - like a betrayal, a forgotten promise. His soul ached to turn back and embrace Genji, asking him once again if he’d really forgiven him, if he was still worthy of calling him his little brother. He wanted to throw himself in McCree’s arms and swear on all that was holy that the love he felt was the purest gift he’d ever received, and if he was doomed to die in his fight against Alduin, McCree would’ve been his last, bright thought before going into the great beyond. 

It was how things were supposed to be, but Hanzo was a coward, and he knew that hardening himself was the only way to keep his heart from shattering.

So he held his head high as he rode at Irileth’s side, deaf to the quiet murmur of the city waiting for them. Only once, as they passed under the archway between two silent guards, he turned around.

Genji and McCree were gone, and he was lost.

“You’re determined to see this plan come to a conclusion, aren’t you?” Irileth asked. The rest of the party was probably already in the palace, because around them were just the busy, unaware citizens minding their own lives.

_ If I succeed, such lives will go on. I need no songs, I only wish failure was not so impending… _

“I don’t see any other options”, he grunted, eyes cast low on his fists around the reins.

“I wish I could do something more”, she sighed. When Hanzo peeked at her, he noticed for the first time that she looked sad. Old, even, when before that moment she’d always radiated only strength and stubbornness. “I mean, I know I’m just the Jarl’s sidekick, but if there’s anything I could do…”

“There isn’t”, and Hanzo immediately regretted his cold tone. Irileth, too, was merely doing her part in this war, and she deserved more than to be the target of his anguish. “But I appreciate your words. I truly do”.

Whiterun, so cozy and familiar, had turned into a scenery out of a feverish dream. War was at rest for the moment, and people didn’t even know it. They just carried on with their lives, hoping the dragons wouldn’t attack their homes. Hoping Hanzo was strong enough to stop them.

Even the Jarl’s palace looked different. The great hall was bathed in a dull, flat light. No guards, only Morrison sitting on his throne; the dragon’s skull above it didn’t seem so big or intimidating. The dragon was dead. It was not a danger anymore.

Hanzo shivered in the gray shadows of the columns. Morrison, in the distance, was as motionless as a statue, his head in his hands. Avenicci stood at his side, quiet, almost mourning.

_Not the best start to my next mission_ , Hanzo thought. He forgot formalities and walked at Irileth side, joining the Jarl with a heavy heart.

“Will it work?” Morrison asked without looking up. 

“I don’t know, but it’s our best shot”, Hanzo replied, leaning back against a column.

Morrison chuckled in his palms and lifted his head, giving Hanzo a crooked, sad smile.

“I would appreciate it if you lied to me and told me it’s all fine, but your sincerity is admirable”. He sunk into his chair and tilted his head to the side. “Alright. Avenicci, would you please call Farengar? I think he’ll want to be present”.

“At once, my lord”. Avenicci bowed deeply and, as he stood up, shot Hanzo a very serious, equally concerned look. While he was away, nobody spoke. Irileth, a darker gray shape in the shadows, clutched her sword, looking for reassurance in the cold steel; the Jarl waited, his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him.

And Hanzo listened. To his own heartbeat, to the distant creaking of wood, alive and whispering, all around him. To his own fears murmuring of death and loss - and with all he had, he ignored them. There was too much at stake to linger on self-commiseration.

“Ah, Farengar. Come, I don’t think you’ve met the Dragonborn yet”, said Morrison at once, and Hanzo looked up from the floor to see a lanky figure in tattered black robes approaching. “He’s the court mage”.

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet, but - is it him? How exciting, I’d never thought I would’ve met such a creature in my life…”

Farengar was in his late thirties at most, with a long, angular face and thick mutton chops. His eyes, black and sparkling, scanned Hanzo with too much interest.

“ _Creature_?”

“Yes, yes, creature, legend, how is one supposed to greet the Dovahkiin himself? I should’ve known when the dragon attacked the countryside months ago, I’m sure you remember, I do, and I wish I was given a chance to discuss with you earlier”. He stopped his frantic speech to catch his breath, and before Hanzo could interject, he resumed his monologue. “Unfortunately, my tomes lack such information, so I apologize if this isn’t the proper etiquette, but you must know that I’m deeply fascinated by dragons, and…”

“Why am I not surprised?” Hanzo muttered. The Jarl snorted briefly, Farengar didn’t even hear him.

“... and these terrible events are stirring my curiosity, if we ignore the devastation and the danger and Alduin wanting to destroy the world it’s all so brilliantly interesting! I hope I’m not disrespecting you, Dovahkiin, but if you can spare some time from your projects and be so courteous to come with me for a brief…”

“It’s Hanzo Shimada, and please, slow down. You’re making my head spin”, Hanzo stopped him, suppressing a chuckle despite everything. “And giving me anxiety, too”.

Farengar’s mouth hung open for a moment, and behind him, the Jarl, too, was hiding a grin behind his hand.

“Oh. Pity, I had hoped you, at least, could give me an insight on the proper terminology for your kind. Category. Whatever”. A faint blush painted his hollow cheeks; he was not a kid, he was even taller than McCree, but he was thin, with long legs like a stork and slender dark hands. He looked too lively for his own good.

“I’ve summoned you to show the Dragonborn how Dragonsreach works”. The Jarl stood up and called Hanzo with his hand. “This way”.

On their way up a narrow, brief staircase, Farengar resumed his chat and his examination of Hanzo. Having that crow-like figure loom above him was unsettling, and Hanzo resisted the temptation to push him away.

“So you really don’t know how a Dragonborn should be…”

“No, I don’t, and for what I know it doesn’t even exists”, Hanzo grumbled as they reached a vaste door. “Maybe you’ll write it, if we make it out alive…”

The mage snapped his fingers at the two men guarding the door, and they quickly - if with a bit of surprise - proceeded to push it.

“A brilliant idea indeed, it could be a valid appendix to my work on dragons. You really can’t imagine how happy I was when the Jarl eventually accepted your request - Irileth told me of the old doubts, she was rather grumpy about it all, as per usual with her… come on, open the door, hurry! - because you know, my studies are sadly lacking in the field research sector. Living specimens are hard to come across, or, well, not that hard, but they’re not exactly easily approachable, and… ah, here it is!”

Farengar shut up, and Hanzo, his ears buzzing, blinked in the reddish light of the sunset across a large terrace. At first, he didn’t see anything worth noting - sure, the space was wide enough to host a dragon, and the opening jutting out on the slope seemed like a possible entrance, but there were no chains or triggers. He frowned and turned to the Jarl, who was standing by the door with his arms crossed. Morrison only looked up with a smirk, and Hanzo followed his eyes.

When his gaze went to the ceiling, his heart skipped a beat.

“Oh!” was all he managed to say. Farengar leaned back against the wall and grinned, smug at Hanzo’s surprised reaction.

Hanzo’d seen more. He had seen better - dragons, Dwemer ruins, giant glowing mushrooms, every possible weird and amazing thing.

They were all distant, far from any place he could’ve called home.

Nothing compared to this, right in the heart of Whiterun, mere feet from where he’d slept weeks ago. This was simply incredible.

Hanzo could very well imagine a dragon in the vast, echoing environment: the tall columns disappeared high into the shadows, arching in a graceful yet powerful curve in the same mixture of elegance and strenght of a bird of prey. At the center of the ceiling, a shiny, carved yoke, so large Hanzo couldn’t take it all in a single gaze.

“Durmast oak wood. Legends say it was the biggest tree to ever grow on Skyrim, it took hundreds of men to cut it down and twice as many to carve it”, Farengar said, slower this time. Hanzo took a step forward until he was right under the instrument and saw two large wheels connected to it by thick chains. The trap still looked shiny, its surface smooth and perfect.

“The lever on the right activates it. Of course, the dragon must be in the right position, so that its neck is trapped… not so unlikely, considering their typical gait with their neck pushed out and low. Once the dragon is lured at the center of the hall, the yoke falls and blocks it. Obviously, if it hasn’t spit fire yet, that’s something to take into account. But once the lever is pulled, the dragon is crushed to the floor, with its ribcage constricted, it can’t…”

“... take a deep breath. It can’t attack”, Hanzo concluded for him, awed and horrified. It truly was a system of brilliant, accurate cruelty.

Farengar nodded, serious.

“It should work, yes. The gears are properly oiled, the chains undergo a constant maintenance, so we should have no problems with the mechanical part of the plan. The rest of it, though…”

“I know, you’re right. I don’t think our dragon will accept my ‘I just wanted to chat’ as a peace offering”.

The mage ruffled his thick sideburns. A cunning look was blooming on his sharp face, and Hanzo worried a bit more.

“Maybe I can do something to help you”, Farengar said. “But I want something in return”.

Hanzo sighed and rubbed his temples. Why did everything have to be more difficult than he’d anticipated?

“Listen, I’m not here to play games, and I’m no merchant. Tell me your prize and let’s be done with this”.

Farengar’s black eyes brightened as he ignored Hanzo’s suggestion.

“Can I collect some samples?”

Hanzo’s eyes blew wide, and he stared at the mage, searching for any clue that pointed to a joke of some kind. But no, those dark eyes were serious, the thin lips sealed in stubbornness. Everything, in Farengar’s frown, spoke of determination.

No, he wasn’t joking for real.

“You want… what?”

“Samples. Scales, blood, this kind of stuff. I have plenty of bones, but they’re of little use. You must destroy dragons, I want to study them, and the two things aren’t mutually exclusive”.

“You’re serious. Do you care so little about your life?”

But Farengar just shrugged, and Hanzo shook his head, defeated.

“I don’t want to get involved. If you’re going to do this, I’ll look somewhere else; pray Odahviing will do the same”.

“Oh, thank you!” Farengar was bouncing with excitement. He took Hanzo’s hand and shook it frantically, his mouth stretching in a manic smile. “I’ll make sure you’ll be provided with every spell and potion and poison in my stack, but thank you, Dragonborn, thank you!”

Jarl Morrison mutteres something that sounded much like utter resignation; still, when he approached Hanzo (gently nudging Farengar away), his face turned serious, his eyes completely focused.

“It shall be as we arranged. Hanzo, Dragonborn and unlikely friend of the Guild, Dragonsreach stands open at your disposal. Whiterun needs you, and the entirety of Skyrim with it: you may come and go as it pleases you. When do you plan to act?”

Hanzo’s mouth went dry at once. His nightmares were real now, and around him Dragonsreach was just a dark and golden landscape where fear unfurled freely.

He hadn’t really thought about when to act. Oh, he’d known it, but he’d never admitted it out loud: there was no way to elude the Jarl’s question.

Panic was nearby, ready to strike back even if he wasn’t a child anymore, or a kid running from the bloodied mud he’d left his brother in. He was a warrior, respected and feared, clad in furs and elegant fabrics.

Underneath it all, though, the old leather of the Dark Brotherhood still clung to his skin, an armor ripped and patched a thousand times. His second skin.

What did he have to do? Farengar disappeared for a moment and came back with an armful of potions Hanzo doubted he would’ve needed. His weapons were sharp, his quiver full, Odahviing’s name dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Hanzo briefly closed his eyes. Had he chosen to turn around and scan the outskirts of Whiterun for one last embrace, one last kiss, it would’ve been lost. He’d greeted his family goodbye already, they deserved him at his best. Regrets were a luxury for another time.

After one deep breath, he stared at the Jarl.

“At dawn. I haven’t changed my mind”. And his voice sounded hard and determined, with no trace of fear.

The Jarl swallowed hard, and he eventually bowed. Nothing dramatic, but a clear recognition of Hanzo’s current status.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“So be it. Dragonsreach is open for you, we’re ready to satisfy all of your needs”.

 

 

**.......**

 

 

It had seemed a good idea at first, and as many of his supposed good ideas it turned out worse than expected.

McCree, hanging by a windowsill, looked down. True, no guards as far as he could see, and this was good news, but the ground was exceptionally far from this point of view; the bushes he’d been hiding in barely looked like darker tiny spots in the shadows.

Looking up, on the other hand, didn’t help either, because his objective was still several feet above his head.

He knew which one was Hanzo’s room, thanks to Genji’s investigations, and actually his was the only window still glowing in the night. McCree grunted and pulled himself up, glad for the quiet all around him. 

_ Bring it on, big boy. You haven’t come this far just to shy away from a challenge. _

The thought made him grin. It sounded a lot like something Hanzo would’ve said in the same situation.

He needed to see him one last time, and not for a quick goodbye by Whiterun’s walls. The mere picture of Hanzo’s eyes going wide with surprise was enough to give him strength and to erase the dangers of gravity from his mind, so it was with renewed energy that he rolled his shoulders and sunk his fingers between the stones of the palace. 

Hell, he was not nearly as agile as Genji, who was some lizard-elf hybrid (not in an argonian way) able to slither up a vertical surface like it was nothing, but he was determined to overcome his own doubts.

His hand burned, its ethereal twin not that much fortunately, but fatigue was starting to settle in his muscles as he stuck his toes on a jutting brick.

_ If I fall, I’m dead. _

He didn’t want to think about it. With every movement, Hanzo was closer, and he wasn’t about to give up any time soon.

_ But I won’t fall. _

When he reached the right window, his back was drenched in sweat; having left his armor by the stables granted him more mobility, but he couldn’t help but feeling exposed.

It was worth it.

With one last grunt, he grabbed the slab of stone in front of Hanzo’s window; his feet dangled into thin air and his heart rumbled in his ears - not out of physical exhaustion at all.

He arched forward, planting his boots on the wall to lift himself up, and eventually he managed to perch himself on his elbows.

Then the window opened with a creak, and McCree looked up to see an arrow sparkle between his eyes.

Behind it, a very serious, equally angry Dragonborn.

“Ho-Howdy?” McCree panted, blowing a loose strand from his forehead.

“What in… Jesse! What are you doing here?” Hanzo’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Bow and arrow, casually thrown away, fell clattering somewhere at his feet, and next thing McCree knew was that two strong hands were fumbling with his shoulders, grabbing and pulling among many muffled curses.

McCree tumbled over the window and fell on a - blissfully - soft carpet. Hanzo didn’t give him time to catch his breath: he frantically hauled him to his feet and held him by his arms, staring at him as if he was seeing a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again, more softly, his gaze wandering all over McCree.

And that precise moment, tired and tensed as he was, with his forehead sweaty and his breath harsh, McCree forgot all the love declarations he’d planned, all the smooth words and sincere appraisal.

He only cared about the wonderful man in front of him, with black hair falling on his shoulders and a loose shirt too long for him. Because it had been months now, and he’d seen Hanzo in better conditions, but he’d never looked more perfect than this. A face as sharp as diamonds and immensely more precious, blood-red eyes that showed fear and weakness and hope - only for him.

He cupped Hanzo’s jaw in his hands and didn’t say anything, hunching over him to find his mouth in a kiss that tasted like tears and promises.

Hanzo gave in immediately, as if he’d been expecting this, desiring it more than his common sense could’ve suggested. He clung to McCree’s chest and parted his lips, welcoming the kiss without further questions. 

And this,  _ this  _ was what McCree wanted to remember until the last of his days. The taste of Hanzo’s tongue in his mouth, the pressure of his body, his hands shaking on the ties of his shirt and on his skin.

Nothing existed anymore - dragons and kings, death and war, nothing really mattered. Hanzo walked backwards without letting go of him, growling from the bottom of his throat against McCree’s mouth. They stopped when Hanzo’s legs hit the bed, and McCree rolled his shoulders to let the shirt fall to the floor. 

When Hanzo squirmed to do the same - no questions asked but those their bodies could answer - McCree murmured against his lips.

“If you thought…” Hanzo bit his lower lip, dragging him back with him until they both bounced on the mattress. McCree’s head was spinning already. “If you thought  _ that  _ was a proper goodbye, you…”

Hanzo didn’t let him finish. He grabbed a handful of his hair and drank him in for another kiss, all teeth and tongue, despair, love and everything they hadn’t told each other yet. 

McCree raked his fingers down Hanzo’s sides, trembling around his belt; when Hanzo lifted his hips to slither out of his pants, every last pretense of restraint vanished like dew in the morning. 

In his late twenties, McCree thought he knew what need and lust were. He’d experienced the power of the tide of fire more often than most, and even more so after Hanzo had chosen him to be at his side. But now, kicking his boots away, he realized he’d known _nothing_. 

The glide of skin on skin, the scent of Hanzo’s hair, the scorching heat of his breath and the sparkle of tears in his lashes - everything was so intense it could’ve broken his bones, shattered his soul. He rocked between Hanzo’s legs, panting as they rode the same wave of passion, and choked back a whimper of pure, absolute love.

Hanzo sat up, still kissing him with fierce hunger, and pushed him on his back. McCree really didn’t have to complain for the weight on top of him, not when Hanzo’s thighs were pressed around his waist and little shots of electricity ran through his nerves with every rocking of their hips. Lost in the friction, he grabbed Hanzo’s ass and urged him on, moaning at the tug that made him tilt his head back.

“You shouldn’t have come”, Hanzo whispered before biting his neck, hard enough to make him gasp. “It’s too dangerous…”

McCree groaned and shook his head free, pressing his erection alongside Hanzo’s - and  _ Shadows take me,  _ the noise they let out together was carved in his dreams already.

The lips against his mouth were slick and open, their tongues gliding together.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares to interrupt us”, he growled. “I swear it”.

He pulled himself up and licked his way down Hanzo’s throat. The nipple between his teeth stiffened instantly, and Hanzo held his head - held him close, demanded for more.

Their ragged breaths were everywhere, echoing under the tall ceiling and vibrating through their bones.

They could’ve kept going like this and it would’ve been good enough. Pleasure was rapidly thickening in McCree’s stomach, and Hanzo’s cock was slick already with precum.

Good, yes. But tonight he was going for  _ perfect. _

It took him some of his dexterity to anchor himself to Hanzo’s legs, keep them spread open and slid down. Hanzo gasped and fell forward, arms tending against the headrest, but when McCree opened him to have a full access to his butthole he gasped some more.

With his face buried inside him, McCree ignored any form of refinery and took everything. His tongue danced and darted in and out, his mouth brushed and savored, and Hanzo’s smell - no leather or sweat, just his skin, primal and pure - was making him dizzy.

He turned his face to the side to bite the hard muscle and dived back him, mouthing at Hanzo’s balls and shivering for the ragged sounds around him.

Clearly Hanzo was trying to stand up, but when his knees gave way and he sat on McCree’s face, his arousal shot to the roof and beyond. McCree grabbed his thighs and held him down, thrusting his tongue forward again and again, until Hanzo balled his hair in his fists and rode him in uncoordinated movements.

His own cock bounced on his stomach, needy, heavy, but McCree was more than happy to ignore it for now. Only when Hanzo’s rhythm faltered he stopped to catch his breath.

The pression on his face shifted, and soon after Hanzo slipped from his grip. 

McCree panted as the other lay on top of him and crushed their lips together once more. When Hanzo rose on top of him, he understood. The small bottle - the one he himself had brought in a surge of ubris and hope, safely tucked in his pants - was dripping oil in Hanzo’s hand, and McCree couldn’t look away.

Flushed, with his ears flat against his head like a wolf ready for a fight, Hanzo bit his lower lip and prepared himself. Utterly mesmerized, McCree watched him slick himself, watched his fingers disappear inside him with quick thrusts that made his gray skin darker and his eyes less focused the more pleasure built up.

And this alone would’ve been it for McCree. Oh sure, he wanted to wait, but the thought of wet heat around his cock, flesh stretching and throbbing and  _ taking,  _ was putting his resolve to the test. He could only stare and wait, Hanzo’s name dancing in his mind and a wordless prayer on his lips.

At the first, craved yet unexpected touch of oiled fingers down his shaft, McCree yelped and tensed, his hips shooting up. 

But then again, this was the Dragonborn, ready to ride a dragon. A Nightingale was a little thing in comparison.

Hanzo, his eyes dark with passion and determination, lifted on his knees and took McCree’s cock by the base, directing him up.

Inside.

“By the… Divines and Daedra and everyone in between”, he said when he breached in. Hanzo squeezed his eyes, and McCree, already getting lost in the ring of muscle clenching around him, knew that no matter how much he wanted to fuck him deep and hard, he would’ve died before hurting him. He anchored himself to Hanzo’s hips and was already looking for the words he needed, but they were useless.

Hanzo took his wrists and lowered himself down, inch after inch, and whatever discomfort might have crossed his face turned into fiery lust.

McCree’s eyes jumped from that beloved face to his cock disappearing inside Hanzo’s body, and before he could realize it entirely they were joined.

_ I love you.  _

The words rolled from his heart and through his soul, but then Hanzo started to move, a slow, deliberate grinding of his hips that turned his breaths into muffled pleas and McCree’s brain into mush.

_ Oh Gods almighty I love you for real,  _ but the only way he could tell him was made of caresses, both tender and demanding, and kisses. He cupped Hanzo’s face in his palms and kissed him again, slowly, mapping his mouth with his tongue and his body with his fingers.

He needed to remember everything. The jutting of Hanzo’s hipbones and the firm mass of his chest, the ripples over his stomach as he arched to meet his thrusts, the fading scars, rough under his hands, the silk of his hair.

His name, branded with fire in his core, and his love.

For what felt like eternity Hanzo moved in McCree’s lap. They both wanted the thrill of the climax, the intoxicating release they were chasing, but for the time they had left together, they chose to wait. To feed every sensation.

“Jesse…”

Hanzo took his hands. McCree cocked his head, still rolling in Hanzo’s body - slow and deep. The broken whisper rose above the symphony of their panting and the brush of skin and flesh.

Another kiss, the thousandth, one more to add to the infinity. McCree leaned his forehead against Hanzo’s; a sharp intake of breath at one particularly wicked rocking, and Hanzo’s words fluttered on his lips.

“Tomorrow I’ll face death, and… and…” He was shaking, his pace growing irregular like his -  _ their -  _ furious heartbeat. “I want you with me. Mark me”.

“Yer killin’ me”, he moaned in reply. He was close, dangerously close, and keeping control was a struggle. Hanzo was tight and burning around him, sucking him in at a punishing rhythm.

His dragon, his love, going in the jaws of Alduin with the sign of their last night on his skin - he couldn’t say no.

He wrapped his flesh hand around Hanzo’s loose ponytail and pulled hard, forcing him to arch his neck and expose his throat.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine”, he rumbled, closing his Lips on Hanzo’s pulse. He sucked, so hard his tongue tickled, for so long he needed air, and didn’t stop until it hurt. In the bright lights of the fire and the torches he saw the definite dark purple circle on that flawless gray skin.

_ Mine, as I’m yours. _

Hanzo almost whimpered, his fingers running through McCree’s beard, grasping for his hair, for support.

With his eyes closed and his features losing their cold dignity in the seconds before the orgasm, Hanzo moved faster, harder in McCree’s lap. His cock, untouched, leaked between them.

The tension in McCree’s groin was heavy, ready to snap any moment - but not before Hanzo.

And it didn’t take long.

Pushing him forward, his palms steadily spread on Hanzo’s ass, McCree lost any ability to form anything but moans, louder now, and what if the guards had heard them?

_ Let them hear. Let them listen, I dare them to come here and take me from him. _

He pressed his brow to Hanzo’s and guided him down the precipice.

But then, among their unequivocal noises, Hanzo murmured his name again.

They were beyond words and logical thought already, and yet McCree, feeling the orgasm crawl up his legs and stomach with no chance to resist it anymore, heard Hanzo’s broken whisper.

The first time it meant little. Reality was but a dark blur sparkling with spots of light at the corner of his eyes, and McCree couldn’t understand.

The second, the world shattered with Hanzo’s broken voice. Frenzied on top of McCree, he arched his back and sunk his fingernails in the other’s shoulder.

“... I love you”, he hissed, and his voice twisted into a beastly whine, almost a scream.

McCree’s voice turned into a dry sob. He wanted,  _ needed  _ to answer, to kiss him again and cry as he repeated that truth over and over again, but his body yielded.

Hanzo squirmed and tensed as he came, his voice loud, and McCree couldn’t but join him - he gave one last thrust, deep and hungry, and with a growl he released himself inside Hanzo. Bright and warm, red and white and burning as the sun, he closed his eyes and his voice roared as one, and then quieted down to a moan.

To a whisper.

A breath.

McCree, still shaken, swallowed back the temptation to fall back and took Hanzo’s face. He couldn’t see him clearly, his vision blurred by tears of pleasure, or maybe of something else, but he  _ felt  _ him. They were one and the same, and it was their last gift to each other.

“Say that again”, he panted, goin once more for Hanzo ‘s mouth.

There was anger, and the stubbornness of one who had learned to love his life, in their kiss - a brief one, because Hanzo pulled back.

“I love you”. It was real, frail and powerful like the dawn.

McCree bumped their foreheads together and didn’t let Hanzo go.

“Again”. Was that sweat on his face? Was he crying?

“I love you, Jesse McCree, I love you and I…”

“Hanzo, I love you too - I love you, it’s ridiculous, forgive me but I lo-“

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s true”, Hanzo said, half laughing, half sobbing. 

And McCree brushed his hair back, incredulous of the most heartbreaking happiness he’d ever felt. 

He was a Nightingale. He’d killed people, stole things, lied and laughed for it, and yet here he was, holding to his heart the most valuable treasure ever. 

Justice was a fraud indeed.

They clung to each other, whispering names and promises and things of beauty among sloppy kisses, until Hanzo shivered on McCree’s heart.

“You cold, darlin’?” He asked, still hoarse.

Hanzo smiled gingerly and unfurled from his lap, nodding.

“Just a bit…”

“Let me take care of you, then”. 

A few minutes and a thorough session of cleaning later, they were bundled together under the blankets, still naked and barely touching. In the warm cocoon around them, McCree could feel Hanzo’s heartbeat, his breath against his lips.

He took Hanzo's hand and placed it against his own - tan skin against dark gray, rough patches from the long training with weapons.

He was at peace. Oh, sure, he could’ve very well started to weep like a baby if he lingered too long on the realization that Hanzo was just hours away from leaving for his final challenge, but there was nothing left unsaid. He folded his fingers around Hanzo’s and kissed them.

“Do you think I’ll make it?”

“Yeah”, he replied at once, words faster than thoughts, and Hanzo chuckled under his breath.

“I’d like to share your certainty…”

McCree scooped him closer and kissed his forehead. After a moment, he felt like his voice was steady enough to speak.

“You  _ will  _ come back. How d’you think I could survive the night if I left room for doubts? And I don’t know how long it’ll take you, but you’ll be back in my arms, and this time there’ll be no dragons to keep us apart…”

Hanzo let out a stifled sigh against his shoulder, and for a long time, they didn’t say anything. Sleeping was impossible, both out of fear for what the next day would bring and of being discovered, but McCree let himself drift away in a sort of trance that made Hanzo’s body too real and the rest of the world a distant whisper.

It had to end. Hours later, when the sky outside was still pitch black and an owl sang its mournful melody, Hanzo shivered and sat up, slowly, reluctant.

“You have to go - Gods, I don’t want you to, but t-the more you stay, the harder it will be to… to…”

True. Painful, but true. McCree closed his eyes and threw the blankets away, forcing a smile on his lips.

“Wish I’d be with you, sunshine. Not just for the - you know - the fact that I love you so much I’d rather die than live in a world you’re not in, but… well, it’s gonna be a hell of a battle”. He sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling for his pants, but turned around for another kiss. Hanzo was quick to deliver.

Once properly dressed, he looked at his man, sitting cross-legged on the disheveled bed and looking no less ruffled. 

Leaving him was the most difficult thing he’d ever done, but Hanzo was right: he had to.

“Alright, pumpkin. Better go before Irileth storms into the room and drags me to the dungeons by my ear. I’ll - er - try not to be too awkward or sappy, because I know full well it wouldn’t help you a bit, but…” He knelt on the mattress and leaned forward, taking Hanzo’s hands. “Be safe out there. I love you”.

One last kiss - maybe  _ the  _ last, but he kicked the idea out of his brain - that tasted like their own story, their greatest adventure. Hanzo murmured against his lips, the ultimate seal on their relationship.

“Love you too”.

McCree gathered his willpower and stood back. All he wanted was to fall to his knees and scream his terror of losing Hanzo, but he knew Hanzo deserved better.

The picture of him he was going to cradle to his heart during the horrible hours ahead was that of a creature of unbearable tenderness wrapped in layers of deadly skills, stubbornness, and courage. And crumpled sheets, too.

“Alright”, he said again, feeling an idiot. “I’m off”.

He turned around and walked to the window, and his eyesight was blurring already with tears he wouldn’t shed.

“Jesse?”

When he peeked from over his shoulder, McCree saw that Hanzo was smiling despite the sparkling trails down his cheeks.

“See you later”.

McCree bit back a sob and nodded, his own smile shaky and faltering.

Their time was over - for now. He opened the window, and the cold night wind ruffled his hair.

He threw his leg over the windowsill and grinned at Hanzo among the tears.

“Later, darlin’”, and he left, crawling his way down the building. 

The stars painted the droplets falling from his eyes in silver.

 

**......**

 

 

Entering the palace, as difficult as it had been for McCree, had been a piece of cake for Genji. He wasn’t banned from the facility, so he had simply - well - walked in from the main door.

Nobody had been there to stop him. No guards in the halls, only Irileth and her brief, concise words. She’d made him smile, and Genji walked the steps to the upper floor with an unexpectedly light heart.

He knew where Hanzo’s room was, but he was also very adamant in not disturbing him when McCree might’ve still been there. In part to save himself from unpleasant mental scarring. Still, when he walked in front of a huge gate left ajar, his instinct tingled and directed his steps.

A sliver of cold blue light filtered through the doors, in contrast with the golden blaze of the torches and the deep shadows they cast. Genji, silent as a whisper, tiptoed to take a sneak peek - not that he needed it, because a part of him knew what awaited him beyond the threshold. Maybe it was the remains of his dragon soul resonating with Hanzo’s, but he was not surprised to see his brother’s familiar shape silhouetted against the night sky.

A sad smile stretched his lips. McCree was gone already, then, scared and heartbroken; he would’ve needed a friendly shoulder to lean against, and Genji was the best person to fill the role. Right now, though, blood called, and he could only answer. 

Hanzo was sitting on the balustrade, his legs dangling into the void. Genji closed the door behind his shoulders and let go of stealth; his boots clicked on the floor, and Hanzo tensed without turning around.

“Jesse, this is pushing your luck. Irileth will…”

Genji smiled and shook his head in the darkness.

“She gave the guards a night out”, he said out loud. Hanzo jumped and grabbed the stones, turning to look at him. “A favor to you. She knew McCree would sneak into your room, and turning a blind eye to you two was the only thing she could do to help”.

“How did you know I was here?” Hanzo asked, relaxing a bit. Genji joined him, leaning against the railing with his back to the night. He squirmed a bit to accommodate the sword hanging from his side.

“I just _knew_ it”, he replied with a shrug. “I met Irileth at the entrance - seriously, is anyone getting some sleep tonight? That couldn’t hurt - and she told me about her idea. It was nice of her…”

Hanzo chuckled in silence. A flick of his hand, and a small light blossomed between them.

“I thought she hated me”, Hanzo said, going back to stare at the horizon.

“Nah, she’s just uptight about her job, but her heart is in the right place. She wanted to… wait, is that a hickey on your neck?” He squinted and leaned toward Hanzo, who shrunk into his shoulders and covered the unequivocal dark circle with his hand.

“Mind your own business!”

“I can’t believe you’re out to fight Alduin with a perfectly visible hickey right above your armor!” Genji threw his head back and laughed at his brother’s flustered face, and only after he’d spoken them, he realized his own words. “Why didn’t the Jarl offer you some better gear, by the way? This thing is old”, and he took Hanzo’s wrist, lifting his arm with mild perplexity.

“It is”, Hanzo replied, his ears still red. He snatched his hand from Genji’s grip and shrugged, going back to stare at the sky. “It’s old, and worn out, battered, scarred, full of bad memories. It’s appropriate, and it served me well…”

Genji’s heart clenched. He elbowed Hanzo and gestured him to turn around.

“Hey, you’re much more than that, you know?”

“Of what?”

“Of what the Dark Brotherhood did to you. More than mistakes and anger and loneliness. You’re my family”.

Hanzo looked at him with a glimmer in his eyes and slowly slid from the wall. His throat quivered when he swallowed, but he made no sound.

Genji, too, couldn’t speak. They’ve been through a lot, the two of them. Orphans in a strange land, lonely and hungry, drifting apart and then back together again.

“You weren’t lying. You have forgiven me”, Hanzo whispered, and the hesitation in his voice sounded both like a shocked chuckle and hardly restrained cry.

“At last it got into that thick skull of yours…”

“I’ll be worth it. I promise, Genji, I’ll be worthy of this second chance”, and with no warning, he pulled Genji in a silent embrace. 

“You already are, you dumbass”, he said, burying his nose in Hanzo’s shoulder. 

It hurt - knowing that they had something precious to share and that it could’ve been blown away the next day in the most gruesome way - but in a good way. The old wounds were healed, their hearts were in harmony, and Genji smiled to himself as the whole world seemed to glow in Zenyatta’s same golden light.

He pulled back when Hanzo’s arms relaxed around him, but didn’t let go of him.

“Are you going to be alright, brother?”

“I wish I could say so, but I’m not a liar. And…” He sighed and looked down, his hair covering his face. When he stared up at Genji, his eyes burned with fiery passion. “I only ask you this, Genji: there’s a dozen ways I could die before Odahviing is even trapped, and thousands if I manage to go to Sovngarde. I… don’t want to think about it, but I need to leave knowing that everything will be taken care of - and McCree needs someone at his side. Will you…”

“You already asked, and I said yes, but no way you’re not coming back home. You’re too headstrong to let something as trivial as the World Eater stop you”. He gently punched Hanzo’s shoulder and took a step back.

“I’ll do something more than anything to succeed, but…”

“... and you will, because I’m here to help you”. He slid his hand on his belt and shook his head. “I’ll give you this, your aim is decent, but you can’t go fight the biggest, baddest dragon out there with bow and arrows. It would be ridiculous”.

He took the sword from his side and looked down at it with a grin. Hanzo, though, went serious. Frightened, almost.

“No. The last time I wielded a sword it was to kill you, and I swore to never…”

“I had no idea it could mean something when this came to me, almost ten years ago”, Genji ignored him. “I didn’t steal it, in case you’re wondering, I just found it while looting a bandits’ hideout. It’s served me good all these years, and now I’m starting to see a reason behind the name I choose for it”. He handed it to his brother. “Dragonblade. That’s its name. Take it”.

“I can’t, it’s yours and I’m just… I’m…”

A deep sigh shook his broad shoulders. The slender blade sparkled in the first pale light of dawn, reflecting Hanzo’s eyes and the pink and lilac of the sky. 

“Are you sure?” Hanzo asked, blinking in Genji’s face.

“No I’m Genji”, he said back, snorting briefly. Hanzo’s face went blank for a moment and his eyebrows fell low above his eyes.

“You didn’t”.

“It was a brilliant joke and you know it. But come on!” He wiggled the sword, and eventually Hanzo nodded and wrapped his hand around the hilt, right above Genji’s.

“If you insist…” He took the sword, and Genji smiled, in equal parts relieved and moved.

“I know you’ll use it well, and you’ll bring it back once you’re done. It’s not a gift, mind you”.

“I’ll keep it in mind”, Hanzo said with a grin. The sun was rising, and sparkles of light burst on the walls and lined in gold Hanzo’s shape.

They both turned to stare at the world, so unusually quiet before the storm. Dragonsreach was starting to stir all around them, and the time of reckoning was here.

Genji threw his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder and squeezed him.

“I’ve got to go, I don’t think the Jarl will like to have me around when you call your dragon friend”.

“This may be the first sensible idea in your life”, Hanzo chuckled, winking at his brother. He went suddenly serious, and after a moment of silence his smirk turned into a gentle smile. “You know, I’m proud to be your brother”.

“Of course you are, have you seen me?”, but his voice broke midway through the remark, and he swallowed back tears.

_ We walked two different paths to get here, but look at us. We’re doing great. _

He sniffed and backed away with an half-mocking bow.

“Go kick Alduin’s ass”, he whispered. He was not going to cry - he wasn’t a kid anymore, after all, and Hanzo deserved him at his best - but it was hard not to.

“I’ll send him your regards”. Hanzo tied the sword at his belt, and he suddenly looked taller, more imposing. One last smile, mirroring on Genji’s face, and the door creaked open.

“Time to go!”

And with a cloud of darkness, wrapped in Nocturnal’s embrace, Genji became one with the shadows. Here, sheltered, safe, he allowed himself a dry sob and a heartfelt prayer.

_ Lady Nocturnal, mistress of luck, if I served you well until now, keep an eye out for him. He’s the only brother I have. _

And then, on a second thought that swelled in his heart and filled him with light, he added:  _Lady Mara, you're no warrior, but you're stronger than anything I've ever known. Let him remember how loved he his, because that's the one real gift I can give him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta admit it, this was probably my favorite chapter to write - and, of course, one of the hardest. I went full romantic old lady and there you go, feelings. Lots of. And Genji's horrible sense of humor.  
> Thank you all, again and again. You mean the world <3  
> And if you want some more McHanzo, check [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907754/chapters/32007171) for my Big Bang fic and the wonderful art it is paired with! Especialy recommended if you're into X-Men, blood and drama.


	17. Zos ar kh men

Hanzo, standing with his back to the rising sun, blinked, and his brother was gone. Only Dragonblade remained, slender and balanced in his hand; as the door creaked open once more, he looked down at the sword and closed his eyes.

_Thank you, Genji. I’ll put it to a good use._

From the palace, a small platoon of soldiers poured out on the terrace, their heavy footsteps echoing under the trap in the shadows of the ceiling.

When he looked back at the crowd, Hanzo suddenly felt lost. Those people clearly knew what to do, way more than he himself: two soldiers climbed the staircases at each side of the room and stopped by the levers that activated the trap.

_One mistake, and they could die. It would only be my fault._

Panic sizzled in the pit of his stomach, and Hanzo’s hands clenched on the sword. His mouth was dry, his heart crushing his ribs, and he didn’t notice the figure approaching him.

“Hanzo”, the Jarl said, taking the liberty to put his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders. To shocked to recoil, Hanzo only stared at him - blue eyes underlined by dark circles, golden stubble on his chin. “Everything is ready. Are you, too?”

The past was coming back to life. He’d been little more than a teen when Astrid had used the same tone to prepare him for his first contract. Hanzo, back then, had nodded solemnly, impatient to prove his worth and certain that failure was not an option. Not for him.

Now he was older, wiser, maybe. And he was scared.

Still, he squared his shoulders and held his head high. His voice helped him more than he’d expected, steady and serious.

“Yes, my lord. I am”.

A commanding voice rose above the chattering, and Hanzo recognized, with a sting of unexpected gratitude, Irileth, busy ordering her men around. Farengar joined him, a shadow with long legs and excited eyes; he said nothing, only buckled a heavy belt around Hanzo’s hips.

Morrison took a step back and let the mage do his job under Hanzo’s perplexed eyes.

“What are those?”

“Potions. Immunity to fire. And to ice”, he rattled off, pointing at every vial. “Healing. Strength. And here, on the left, poisons: flames, weakness and…”

Farengar’s voice faded under Irileth’s insistence.

“Dragonborn, I visited the armory and… oh. I see you've equipped already”, she said, frowning at Dragonblade, but Hanzo, gently removing himself from the mage’s cares

, shook his head.

“I appreciate the intention, housecarl. I…”

“... whatever. These will come in handy”, and she brusquely shoved a full quiver in his arms. Every arrow sparkled in blue, and Hanzo shivered at the magic they contained.

Irileth nodded to herself, satisfied, and went back to pester her soldiers.

Hanzo absent-mindedly placed all his weapons into place - the quiver was reassuringly heavy across his chest, and the sword was an unusual weight he needed to get accustomed to. When he took a deep breath and stood upright, he felt taller. Almost prepared for the task (but only if he didn’t overthink it).

The guards were all around the terrace, their backs to the walls. Under the helmets, they seemed to have no face, no eyes, only puddles of shadows.

Everyone was in position, even the Jarl, at the far end of the space, with Irileth protectively at his side. Hanzo blinked in astonishment when, from the darkest corner, a human shape emerged; he squinted at it, and to his supreme bewilderment he saw Gabriel Reyes press a finger to his lips - and then disappear again.

_I didn’t even know he was here…_

The distraction worked for a moment, but when Hanzo shook his head - yes, the corner looked actually empty now, but the Guild Master was not far, nor were his Nightingales - everything had gone still.

Silence. Deep and heavy, made even more looming by the distant chirping of early birds and the squeaking of leather.

Silence and waiting.

_I’ve got to go now. There’s no point in procrastinating the inevitable._

He clenched his fists and looked at the Jarl. A curt nod on both sides - acceptance, good luck - and he tried to focus on himself.

Heart thumping. Breath slow, forcibly calm. Pictures popped into his mind - Genji’s grin, their parents’ faces. McCree’s eyes crinkling with love and tenderness whenever they met Hanzo’s.

_For you. For all of you, for Skyrim and for myself._

He kept his gaze on the horizon, and one step at a time, slow and careful, he walked to the balustrade.

Odahviing. The name bounced in his mind, twirled on his tongue. A name thick with ice and snow, with the thrill of the hunt, that of a winged predator as swift as the wind.

He had never seen this dragon, but his soul knew already what he would’ve looked like.

Ahead of him, the sky was fading to a pale blue. Hanzo reached the outer space and nothing mattered anymore.

He was nothing but the Dragonborn, now. Determination, focus, anger all tied into a knot.

He breathed in the crisp autumn air; it descended into his lungs and washed away any leftover of fear and doubts. Or, at least, it pushed it all back to a dark place of his mind.

Once - air in, air out.

Again, while the world, unaware, started to stir into a new day.

Air in, air out.

And again.

Air in.

Words exploded in bright blue light behind his eyes and into his core. Power surged through him, flames and storm and blood.

Out.

“ _Od Ah Viing_!”

Hanzo’s voice roared among the walls and made every stone, every standing soldier tremble. The sound bounced on the pillars and the chains moaned in anticipation.

And then, as sudden as it had exploded, it faded.

Hanzo staggered forward and fell against the stones. Endrippedppled from him, and for a moment he leaned on his arms, panting, exhausted from the Shout.

_Breathe. Just breathe for now._

He hunched his shoulders and hissed through his teeth, trying to swat nausea and dizziness away, to make his legs steady again and his heart quieter. He couldn’t keep his eyes open - the Thu’um had drained him, but he didnt need his eyesight to feel the dismay around him. It was a different kind of silence, restless, full of hushed whispers and tingling armors and hesitant steps.

 _It will work. It_ must  _work._

Hanzo groaned and sunk to his knees; with his head in his hands, shaking lightly, he waited for his head to stop spinning.

It took an horribly long time, and eventually Hanzo heard someone approach. He peeked up from his arms, blinking the last of his vertigo away, and saw Morrison crouching at his side.

“So?”

He sounded nervous, his face was even paler than usual, his eyes full of hope.

Hanzo didn’t know what to answer. Speaking could’ve made him sick, and anyway he couldn’t think about anything comforting to say, to make their waiting something worth of their struggle.

He couldn’t.

But right when his senses returned to their normal state and disappointment started to seep under his skin, a high pitched scream tore the silence.

“Here he comes!”

Hanzo’s head shot up, and Morrison violently hauled him to his feet - not that he needed it, he was jumping up already.

They both turned to the horizon, and a hoarse gasp fell from the Jarl’s lips.

Hanzo covered his eyes with his hand, and as soon as the sun stopped blinding him, he saw it.

Something was flying among the clouds, a slender, dark shape, impossibly fast.

“It’s him”, Hanzo breathed out as the creature gained definition. The sun painted the long body in fire, and the slender figure - not nearly as thick as Paarthurnax, but with longer tail and neck - sparkled like freshly spilled blood.

Hanzo took a step back and grabbed the Jarl by the front of his robes. WIthout looking at him, he pushed him back under the roof, walking backward and keeping his hand on the sword.

“Don’t attack him. Stand back and let me do my… thing, whatever it is”. He twisted fur and fabric in his fist and glared at Morrison. “Go, all of you! To the back of the room!”

Jack Morrison, uptight and stubborn as he was, was not a fool. He nodded, ignoring Hanzo’s insubordination, and yelled orders at his men. Irileth guided the guards by the door, and a wall of arrows blinked as one as every guard pulled their bows.

Hanzo ran back to the balcony. Odahviing glided in front of the terrace and roared, a scarlet snake with eyes of ruby and a sneering snow of fangs. He briefly disappeared from Hanzo’s view, only to burst back up from under the building, his long wings spread open.

The dragon roared and landed on the terrace; stones and plaster crumbled under his claws, and Hanzo stood paralyzed in awe and horror. The grin on the beast’s mouth was all challenge and defiance, the self-assured confidence of someone aware of his superiority.

“You summoned me, Dovahkiin”, Odahviing roared, his wide wings covering the whole floor.

Hanzo, speechless, walked backwards. His hands didn’t even reach out for his weapons, even if behind him the crowd of guards yelled in panic.

Odahviing took a first step on the balcony, making it shake with his impressive weight. His purpleish eyes blinked at Hanzo, full of brutal strength and - Hanzo was shocked at the realization - curiosity.

_It’s show time._

He licked his lips and wore his best war face, confident the dragon wouldn’t notice how his lips trembled.

“And you answered my call, dovah”, he cried out. “Maybe you’re not such a coward as they say…”

The dragon’s eyes opened wide, his pupils black slits in the red scales.

“Coward? Me? Who said it? Who dares?”

Hanzo took another step back. With the corner of his eye, he saw the line of the porch was getting closer - some dozen feet at most, that was all he needed to do. Have Odahviing follow him for that short distance, right under the trap.

The dragon crawled forward, sneering and fuming; his talons scraped the floor, and clumsy as his pace was, he didn’t look less lethal on foot than in the air.

“Why do you care so much? It’s me you wanted to meet. The Dragonborn nonetheless. The bane of your chief”. Hanzo grinned, not less beastly than his opponent, and backed off some more.

A deep sound rumbled from the immense armored torso. Odahviing was laughing at him.

“Oh, of course. The infamous Dovahkiin - do you want to know what they say about you, dur kriid?” A line of smoke rose from his jaws; Irileth, in the rear lines, cried out an order Hanzo ignored.

_Dur kriid._

Murderer.

Hanzo was about to laugh back at Odahviing’s teasing.

“You said that your self: I’m a killer. I’ve never tried to hide it, so you’ll have to do better than this to provoke me…”

The sudden darkness around him caught Hanzo off guard. Was he there already? Only by sheer willpower he stopped short of looking up and revealing his plan.

_Not yet. Almost there, but not quite yet._

His boots glided on the smooth stones of the floor, and doubt drenched his thoughts. It was too obvious, and it was but a matter of seconds before Odahviing smelled the trap and turned against him, destroying dozens of innocent lives.

His throat went dry and tight - and he tried not to let this distract him. There was too much at stake.

Odahviing followed him, his scales blood red in the shadows, glimmering faintly. Once more, his snout twisted into a grin, thick with sharp fangs.

“I thought you were bigger, mortal. They say you’re strong, mul. That you forced Alduin on the ground, something no one had managed to do in centuries… and yet look at you, little more than a rat, a parasite plaguing this land that rightfully belongs to my kind…”

Hanzo walked past the two wooden wheels.

“No, Irileth, stop it! I’m not leaving!”

“My lord! I can’t keep you safe if you…”

The Jarl hissed a rough command, and Irileth grumbled her assent. Hanzo knew it was risky - the troops were but feet behind him, and any dragon attack would’ve incinerated them too.

A risk he had to take. He lowered his head and bared his teeth, despite the goosebumps covering his skin.

“Flatterer. Is that all they say about me?”

Odahviing slowed down - _No! No, come further, just a little bit more! -_ and tilted his head, studying Hanzo with intrigued attention. He then pressed on, the friction of his claws on the stones turning into sparks.

“You’re so ridiculously young, joor, what else did you expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know - let’s see, maybe that I trapped the mighty Odahviing?”

The dragon stopped again. Right under the colossal yoke hanging, unnoticed, from the ceiling. He frowned, and then threw his head back in a thunderous laughter that made the walls shake and the soldiers unsheath their blades.

“Seriously? You’re adorable, Dovahkiin! You think you can fool me, playing tricks with someone who’s been alive before your kind was even conceived in the mind of the Makers…” He shook his head and went serious, glaring at Hanzo in the thickening smoke from his nostrils. “No, they’re not saying this. And to think you’re so arrogant to consider yourself in a position of power. To believe you have - how do you say in your barbaric language? - _caught_ me?”

The smoke was lined with flames, now, darker and so hot it made the air around Odahviing’s head ripple.

Hanzo took a deep breath. The army was silent, now. His time had come.

“No, you’re right, they’re probably not saying that specifically”. He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Not yet. _Now!”_

The guards had been waiting for his signal. The chains unfurled in synch, shiny and singing in the morning air. Hanzo jumped back; for a split second, he caught a glimpse of Odahviing expression - round, bulging eyes, his smirk freezing into place, shaking around his fangs. The trap fell with a deafening thud, right across the creature’s neck, and before he could blink, another metallic click locked the device into place. Odahviing reared and arched his back, but when he tried to spit fire at them, all he mustered was a guttural moan and a puff of smoke. He jumped, oh, he did jump indeed, and flapped his wings, whipped his tail and pulled back, but only made the chains tense and sing their mocking song.

“You did it!” the Jarl bellowed. Hanzo, still incredulous, found himself dragged back in something not so different from a brutal hug. Morrison was jumping on his feet and shaking his head - and Hanzo couldn’t listen to a word he was saying.

He blindly stared at the captive dragon, and the adrenaline rush was quickly leaving him dizzy and confused.

“I… got him”, he said again, and a wave of hysterical laughter scraped his throat. “I got him!”

It was not over yet. It was barely starting, and he couldn’t join the soldier’s cheerful chaos. He gave himself a moment to recollect his wits, accepted a pat on the back from Irileth - so hard it could’ve sent him on his knees - and brushed his hair back.

He got a dragon. Now all he needed was to convince him to cooperate.

It almost made the previous step - catching him - look like a thing of no importance in comparison.

While Irileth turned to calm her men down and Farengar buzzed everywhere like an overexcited bee, Hanzo took a deep breath and pulled himself from the Jarl’s enthusiasm.

Odahviing hated him. The sentiment was so bright and clear in his eyes he could’ve told him straight away as well.

“Horvutah med kodaav - Caught like a bear in a trap”, the dragon sneered, trying against all odds to throw his head forward and bite. He only made the wood groan quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Odahviing. I wish we’d come to know each other in friendlier times…”

“What do you want from me? Fight me like a warrior, and not with tricks and cheats!” He flapped his wings again, but when they hit the chains, he grimaced in pain. Hanzo almost felt sorry for him.

“I know you dragons like to talk, but alas, I didn’t call you to enjoy the pleasure of conversation. I’m here to parlay”. He felt better, now. Strong, powerful, as if he was indeed fit for the role fate had given him. Sure, a trapped dragon was easier to deal with than a flying fighting monster, but the sensation made his voice steadier, his tone sarcastic enough for his tastes. Hanzo liked the change.

Odahviing frowned. He was peculiarly expressive for a being all covered in scales. His suspicious stare was the most sincere look Hanzo’d seen on his face.

“Parlay. With me. You”.

A symphony of ecstatic, high pitched noises came from somewhere near the door; they didn’t contribute to the majesty and importance of the moment. Hanzo tried not to get distracted and approached the dragon’s head. It was slender and sharp like that of a bird of prey, different from Alduin’s spiky one or Paarthurnax’s heavy plates. Not less dangerous.

“Exactly”. Damn, being in a position of advantage felt good indeed! “But first, my apologies: it’s not true they say you’re a coward. I shouldn’t have said that”.

“Oh. I appreciate it. Now let me go”.

“No. But there are rumors nonetheless - can you deny you’re not thrilled with Alduin’s behavior?”

“None of your business. Let me go”, Odahviing insisted. Hanzo clicked his tongue in impatience.

“I said no. And you’re in no position to argue my requests”.

Odahviing’s pupils blew to dark voids, then thinned again, completely focused on Hanzo.

“Do you really think I’ll answer your pathetic questions?”

Hanzo shrugged and sunk his hands into his pockets.

“Why not? You have nothing left to lose. And let me get things straight: I want to kill Alduin, and I will. Unfortunately, I need your help to reach him”.

Again, Odahviing burst into a manic laughter, its uproar stifled by the uncomfortable position that squished his throat. A corner of his mouth rose, revealing once more his fangs.

A lot of fangs. Very sharp, very near. Hanzo tried not to look at them too much.

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I help you? Why shouldn’t I support the one who’s murdering my own kind? It makes perfectly sense, how silly of me not to…”

“Enough, Odahviing!”

The dragon growled and shivered; when he stared at Hanzo, it was with renews hatred, vicious and absolute.

“Don’t use my name ever again, mortal!”

Hanzo frowned and pointed his finger at him.

“Look at you. Do you think you can play spoilt and expect everyone to obey your whims? Please, spare me the ‘you killed my family’ nonsense, because I don’t believe you. You care about power, but since you’re not one who likes to take risks and be on the forefront, you’re content with following a strong leader. Alduin, for example”. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But now, your loyalty is faltering”.

A shadow moved by the wall, but Hanzo was all for Odahviing, whose look was going from utter contempt to ill-concealed interest.

_I never miss the mark. I found your weak spot already, dragon._

“So what? Let’s pretend you’re right. Why should I help you?”

Hanzo didn’t need to speak. he arched his eyebrows and widely gestured at Dragonsreach - trap, chains, soldiers and everything included. Odahviing rolled his eyes and huffed.

“I died once already, do you think I fear death? Because that’s the only thing you can threaten me with, Dovahkiin: to kill me”.

“You’re not wrong”, Hanzo replied, pacing back and forth in front of the dragon. “But consider your situation: what kind of death would it be? Forced to the ground, trapped like a rabbit and slaughtered like a pig. One would expect something better for…”

The roar caught him completely off guard, and Hanzo shamelessly jumped to the side. Odahviing started to thrash around, wiggling his neck despite the wood gnawing through his skin. Small flames - the best he could do - poured from his jaws, and Hanzo angrily looked around.

“How… dare you! You’d never presume that much, weren’t I… weren’t… Dovahkiin! Release me! Release me now!”

Farengar scurried away, holding something against his chest.

“Samples!” he whispered, passing at Hanzo’s side.

“Shor’s bones, Farengar! Are you insane?” the Jarl hissed, pushing the mage to the door. “We’re not playing around here! This is…”

“Alright”, Hanzo said out loud.

The door slammed shut, and everyone, human or not, turned to stare at him. He cleared his troat and approached Odahviing again. “I’m releasing you”.

Jarl Morrison, his hand still on the door, ogled. Farengar dropped his loot, a scale as big as his face. Irileth, somewhere behind the soldiers, shook her head, baffled, and drew her sword.

Even Odahviing stopped squirming and choked on another roar. First he glared at Hanzo in complete astonishment, then he squinted, slowly turning to face him.

“I beg you pardon?”

Hanzo worried his lip and stared at his own reflection in the impressive eye.

“I said I’ll release you, but on one condition”.

Odahviing chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“What do you want? Me not to attack your home ever again? Deal, Dovahkiin, for what I care you have my word, and a dov always keeps it. We’re honorable creatures, in case you…”

Hanzo shook his head and interrupted him.

“Tell me the truth: do you really believe Alduin will succeed in his plan? And let’s assume he does - will he let you other dragons tap into his same source of power?”

“You speak of things you have no knowledge of”, Odahviing snapped, but from his concerned look it was clear that some of his determination was faltering. Maybe it had already been so before Hanzo’s actions, even.

“Twice I met Alduin in person, and from another time I’ve witnessed his demise; had he been so sure of his strength, he’d have no reason to be so arrogant and not to share his secrets…”

Farengar, still lingering by the door, let out a whimper.

“He’s joking, right, my lord? He can’t be serious. If he lets that dragon out I’m dead!”

But Odahviing was silent, single-mindedly studying Hanzo.

And Hanzo didn’t look away.

“What are you trying to say, Dovahkiin?”

“Alduin’s not a leader. He’s a _tyrant_ , and you all nothing but pawns to be sacrificed for his greater good. You deserve better than to be a slave - we all do”.

For a while, Hanzo paced the terrace, restless in the shocked silence. Eventually, he stopped in front of the dragon and stared into his eyes.

“Believe it or not, I don’t think dragons are necessarily foes. This doesn’t mean I’ll let Alduin destroy this world. I’m not asking your help in the final battle, for that is my burden, and mine alone. I merely want a chance to face him as equals, and you’re the only one who can provide it”.

Odahviing’s eyes were dark, unreadable globes of mystery. Hanzo realized there was little of human in them, but a whirlwind of emotions he could recognize. When he spoke, the dragon’s voice was low, serious, with an eerie mystical note to it.

“Is that what you want? You think you could defeat him?”

“I can. I will. But rest assured, I’m going to challenge him”. Hanzo clenched his fists and his knuckles cracked.

The creature stood completely still, not more lively than the stones of Dragonsreach.

“Swear it”, he said, low and solemn.

It really sounded - and felt - like an oath, so Hanzo put his fist to his chest and bowed his head.

“Zu vaat nii - I swear it, in both our tongues. And look inside me, you’ll see I’d never say these words without meaning them”.

Odahviing blinked slowly, and when he looked back at Hanzo his expression was serious, not mocking or furious anymore.

“I believe you, Dovahkiin. And I believe you’ll keep your words”.

“Will you do the same?”

“I swear it”.

“You won’t hurt these people”, and he gestured to the soldiers behind him.

“I won’t, but they’ll never touch me again”. The dragon glared at Farengar, who curled in a ball behind the Jarl, still cradling the scale.

Hanzo sighed in relief and nodded.

“Acceptable”.

He turned to face Morrison, whose lips moved in silence in a wordless prayer or curse. He didn’t look that noble anymore, only pale, tired and perplexed.

“My lord, please tell your men to open the trap and not hurt our… guest”.

“He’s going to eat me! I know it, this is how I leave this plane of existence, I…”

“Hush, Farengar - Irileth, escort him inside later, he needs a strong drink - Dragonborn, this is our last chance: are you sure?” He ruffled his hair, silver and gold in the morning light, and chuckled with tension. “Because it sounds rather crazy, from this point of view…”

“I’m fully aware of this, thank you, but I also think we’ve discussed the issue enough”. He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath. “Our time is now”.

Jarl Morrison ran a trembling hand across his face and muttered something that sounded a lot like “Gabe will be insufferable if you get yourself killed”, and the shadows chuckled softly. Nobody noticed, except for Hanzo, who tried not to stare in that direction.

“So be it”. The Jarl adjusted the crown on his head and stared at the dragon. “Open the trap!”

Weapons flashed once more, and their glimmer added up to the chains tensing again. After a loud creaking of wooden wheels, the trap opened and slowly raised from Odahviing’s neck. Irileth guarded the Jarl with her body, blissfully unaware of how thick the shadows around him were, and Hanzo tried to swallow in vain.

Before he was completely free, Odahviing arched his neck and reared, his tail sweeping the floor, his immense wings hitting the columns and the walls. Eventually, when the wooden beam fell with a thud to the floor, the dragon grinned and shot Hanzo a defiant look.

“No…”

Fear chilled his blood, but he had no time to react. Odahviing opened his mouth, and flames dripped from his fangs.

“No!” Hanzo roused and ran toward him, his hand going to the sword hanging from his side. “Odahviing, you promised! You gave me your word!”

But when fire erupted from the dragon’s throat, Hanzo fell back, shocked. The column of light exploded - but not toward the now screaming soldiers. Hanzo shielded his eyes with his hand, and Irileth roared as she jumped in front of the Jarl.

The fireball bounced up to the ceiling, blinding and scorching hot, and when Hanzo found some balance and emerged from his sudden terror, the first thing that hit him was a strong smell of burned wood. He squinted and coughed in the smoke under a rainfall of sparks and lapilli, and saw Odahviing sit back on his haunches, still fuming but satisfied. The dragon folded his wings on his body and smirked at him.

“If I recall correctly, and I do, there was no clause about not burning that damned trinket up there”. He lowered his head and looked at Hanzo, full of amusement. “My my, Dovahkiin - did I scare you?”

The answer was flashing on Hanzo’s face, a bold, screaming ‘yes’ written across his wide eyes and pale skin. Still, he tried to recompose himself and stood up, letting go of the sword he hadn’t realized he was holding. By the door, the Jarl flushed red and mumbled an outraged reprimand about the material damage Dragonreach had suffered.

“No. Fine, very good. If you’re done destroying the Jarl’s properties, let’s get down to business - I need to go to Sovngarde. Where’s the entrance?”

The dragon moved backward toward the balustrade and coiled there, wiggling the tip of his tail. He looked smug.

“Skuldafn. That’s the name of the place”, he said.

Hanzo adjusted the quiver on his shoulders and gestured Morrison that he was alright, before marching to Odahviing.

“Where is this place?”

Odahviing ignored him and checked on his side, pouting a bit.

“Ah, look at this mess, it’ll take months for that scale to grow back properly, and years before it’s as hard as before. Sure thing, you joorre are ill-mannered indeed…”

Impatience made Hanzo fussy, his voice high pitched. He stomped his foot on the floor and gritted his teeth.

“Odahviing! I have no time to waste!”

The dragon huffed in fake affliction and shook his massive head.

“You can’t get there on your own, of course”, he said in the voice used for not so bright children. “You’re not of my kind. You may have our soul, but alas, you miss something”, and he affectedly flapped his wings once.

_Keep it cool. You’re Hanzo Shimada, dragonslayer, hero of this tale, you can’t let a snotty dragon make you lose your temper._

He rubbed his temples and breathed through his nose.

“That’s why you’re to take me there”.

During the following silence - a long, strained one - such a brilliant plan breached through everyone’s consciousness. Then Odahviing burst out laughing again, this time in such a sudden, spontaneous way he roared, and his whole body jumped. He threw his head back, and for a while, the air only echoed with his manic amusement.

Hanzo started to feel like an idiot when the dragon hiccupped and panted out white sparks.

“Oh. Oh! It was centuries since… I didn’t… ah, Dovahkiin, you really are an incredible creature. You weren’t joking when you said… I can’t believe it!”

“So is that a yes?”

“It is”, Odahviing agreed with a huge grin. “You’re fun, and cunning enough to beat me in wits, honorable enough to keep your word even if the odds were all against you, and who knows, even strong enough to bend Alduin, once. I daresay you’re stupid enough to do it again, and I’m curious to see what you’ll make of him”.

Hanzo closed his mouth with a snap. So easy? He’d cradled the illusion of some more empty talk, more wasted time to delay his final battle - but no, he had to be ready again, and there was no more time to ask himself if he truly was.

“Thank you, I suppose?”

“But mind you, what I’m granting you is an unprecedented honor. And once you’ll be back, if you’ll be back, your envy for the dov will mark your brief existence for…”

“Whatever, let’s have it your way”, he interrupted him. “So now I have to…” Hanzo gingerly pointed at the scaly, spiky back of the dragon. It didn't look safe, comfortable or anything but lethal.

“What do you think? Either you climb up here, or I can carry you in my talons. Or in my mouth, if you’re so ready to put my gag reflex to the test…”

The dragon’s smile was unbearable. Still, even if Hanzo hated to admit it, Odahviing was proving loyal. Surprisingly so.

“Can you promise I’ll get to Skuldafn alive?”

“Killing you would be pointless now; you’re probably going to die anyway, so I’m not spoiling your ending. If you brace yourself and try not to launch yourself into the void, you’ll be fine”.  
  
Hanzo’s tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He peeked over his shoulder - the Jarl was speechless, Farengar whimpered, Irileth was somewhere between confused and infuriated. Gabe was behind them all, an unseen shadow in the darkness.

And far from them all, somewhere outside of Whiterun’s walls, Genji awaited. His little brother, an open wound now healed that had left them both stronger.

Out there was McCree. His future. His love.

He could almost hear his thoughts, as real as if he was speaking to his ear.

_You gotta go, darlin’. Make it quick, I’m missin’ you already._

“I grow tired of waiting, Dovahkiin…”

Hanzo jumped and held his breath.

“Yes. I’m - yes, let’s go. Let’s do this”.

He said his last goodbye to his new life and, without sparing the Jarl and his crew another look, nervously walked to the dragon. When he placed his hand on the scaly side, he marveled once more at how muscular and warm it was. But mostly, at how thick and sharp all those spikes and horns were.

“Where am I supposed to sit, exactly?”

“Listen, mortal, playing the mule is not my strongest asset, so find a suitable spot and get over it”.

Hanzo, scolded, knew the dragon was right: he had no other options but make himself relatively comfortable and go. He grabbed two spikes as big as his arms and pulled himself up, careful not to pierce any delicate and cherished parts of his body in the process. It was not that bad, he realized once he’d settled down: sitting at the base of the dragon’s neck, with his knees steadily tucked behind his jaw, he didn’t feel exactly like he was going to fall off anytime soon.

No, it was not _comfortable_ , there were bumps and edges poking him here and there, but bruises were the least of his concerns.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I mean, yes, bring it on”.

“Then buckle up, and get ready to see the world through a dragon’s eyes!”

The mightly flanks tensed and jolted at the first powerful beating of his wings, and Hanzo let out a strangled sound, hanging to the bone spikes in front of him.

Odahviing closed the distance to the sky in a bobbing trot and jumped - high enough to trespass the balustrade, but not so much to avoid hitting it with his rear paws. The rocks crumbled and fell, and Hanzo was sure he’d done it on purpose.

The dragon jumped.

And then he fell, heavy and motionless.

Hanzo closed his eyes and didn’t stop the legitimate scream bursting from his chest; no sound came from his mouth, though, for the air slapping his face was too loud and fast. With his hair pulled back by the wind and his ears flat against his head, Hanzo knew he was going to die a very painful, equally awkward death.

Instead, when he was starting to be short of breath already, Odahviing spread his wings and interrupted his fall. Hanzo’s scream resumed at full force.  
  
“Dur Hiu, Dovahkiin! Would you stop this nonsense? Had I wanted you dead, I could’ve killed you a dozen of times without risking my own precious life. Show my intelligence some respect, please!”

Hanzo’s voice faded to a moan, and eventually, despite how much his hands hurt, still grabbing the dragon’s scales and burning from the effort, he opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Immediately, he realized, because behind him Dragonsreach was a dark shape in the distance.

How fast could a dragon fly? He had no idea, and he was in no condition to investigate the issue any further, but he was inclined to believe it was _really, horribly fast._

Their glide hadn’t lasted for more than a couple of heartbeats, or so it seemed, but what ran under them was already different from the green fields and clear rivers around Whiterun. Dragonsreach was gone already, and in its place were snowy peaks fading into woods of black pines, small mountain lakes as blue as the skies above an unknown horizon.

Then Hanzo looked down, and he regretted everything.

“Oh no - no, no, I don’t like this! Down, dragon, down immediately!” he shrieked, squeezing his eyes shut once again as his head spun wildly.

“Calm down, Dovahkiin! And don’t you dare throw up on me, I guarantee I won’t take it graciously if you do”.

For a moment, the cold, thin air hissed quietly in Hanzo’s ears, and eventually he gathered the courage to relax his back. Odahviing felt his movement, because he turned his horned head and grinned.

“It occurs me that I haven’t asked your name yet”.

“No you haven’t, and… oh, _fuck!”_ The world turned white, icy cold and very, very damp in the blink of an eye. When they emerged from the sudden nothingness, Hanzo realized it was nothing but a cloud, a fluffy surface spreading through the sky. “Odahviing, don’t you ever do that again, I’m drenched…”

The dragon chuckled and touched the cloud with the tip of his tail, rippling it into peaks.

“You’re whiny, mortal. And to think I was starting to like you…”

“Hanzo. My name is Hanzo, are you happy now?”

And when he finally looked up, full of terror from the flight and for what awaited him, the brightest sun he’d ever seen blinded him. He let go of one of the spikes and covered his eyes with his hand, looking down, and a bubble of surprise popped into his chest.

“Oh!” he whispered when he saw the landscape beneath them. Everything was weightless and soft, white and pearly gray, a featherlight architecture of pinnacles and hills that spread until the end of the world.

“Pretty, isn’t it? And to think I don’t even notice it anymore - ah, you poor, little joorre, how sad and limited your lives are, so short, boring… is it even worth it?”

“Where are we?” Hanzo ignored him. Maybe he was not going to fall after all, his position was steady enough and Odahviing was a careful flier.

“Somewhere above Skyrim. Beyond it. Don’t worry, I know the way”.

Blinking, Hanzo looked up and searched for the sun, and despite the bright blue glare all around, it was nowhere to be found.  
  
“It is… gone. The sun is gone!” he stuttered, and Odahviing laughed, making him bob on his back.

“We’re not merely crossing space, my little friend Hanzo. Us dov are made of much more than flesh and blood, and Skuldafn is getting closer. It won’t take much longer”.

“Already? But we left… I don’t know, surely less than an hour ago!”

“Maybe, and maybe not. Don’t overload your poor simple mind, Dovahkiin, and accept that there are truths you can’t fully grasp. By the way, hang on tight”.

“Why would…”

The dive caught him off guard and pushed him in his back. For a moment, as brief as it was dreadful, Hanzo lost his grip on the scales; his legs detached from the dragon, and he found himself fluctuating an inch from the solid surface of Odahviing. Breathless, he fumbled to regain his handhold, and his ears filled with a deafening sound - his own voice, crying out in fear.

Once more they sunk into the layer of clouds, white at first, then as thick and gray as lead. The wet darkness was slashed by pale blue lightning bolts, and all around thunder rumbled and rolled ceaselessly.

Hanzo, once he was sitting again on dragonback, his fingertips bleeding for how desperate his grip was, couldn’t keep his eyes open: the air, sharp as a blade, made them teary, and the void they were crossing was terrifying in its own.

Odahviing landed with a heavy thud, and when his back jumped and arched, Hanzo lost what little balance he still had. He groaned and slid to the side, falling from the dragon in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs and curses.

The ground beneath his knees was hard, and he immediately felt bruises blossom under his skin despite the studded leather of his armor, but it was solid and blessedly still. He doubled over and coughed to the point of retching with the intensity of the dizziness crippling him, but when he managed to take a shaky long breath, the crisp air cleared his mind.

“Puny breed”, Odahviing sneered in contempt. Hanzo waited until his nausea was gone entirely, then he looked up.

Beyond Odahviing’s scarlet form, Skuldafn rose like a cathedral from another time. Sturdy but for the slender, collapsed columns and archways daring the clouds, it was a silent relic that didn’t belong to the world Hanzo had always called real.

Faded scraps of banners flapped in the wing, and in the sky, no birds sang their songs. There were dragons, distant and immense, flying in circles around a beacon.

Odahviing spoke again, and his bitter tone snatched Hanzo from his traumatized reverence.

“We were gods, once”, the dragon growled softly. There was a trace of longing in the rich voice, and when Hanzo looked at him he saw his eyes were on the horizon, cold and distant. “Mortals sang prayers for us and bowed at our majesty, until Alduin went too far and turned reverence into fear, and fear into hatred”.

“Right what I needed: a cult. I missed some religious zealots on top of everything…”

Odahviing winked at him.

“Never a dull moment for the heroes, right? But see, there were priests, back then. Not entirely human, not once they put their whole being at our service - they were powerful, and one is still here. He’s the one who keeps the way to Sovngarde open, but only for Alduin”.

The dragon pointed his chin to the column of light up at the center of the vast structure. It disappeared high in the clouds, at the center of a motionless storm. Hanzo shivered, and the fear he’d learned to accept as part of his courage shifted and changed.

It tasted like excitement, it filled him to the brim with the mindless anticipation of his life’s greatest adventure.

Today, he was going to turn Skyrim’s fate upside down. To write his own name in blood and thunder in the centuries to come.

Odahviing snapped him from his thoughts by poking him in the side with his nose.

“I didn’t bring you here to watch you squint at the landscape”. The dragon coiled around him and grinned. “I’m curious to see who, between you and Alduin, will make it out in one piece. I suppose I’ll have to join forces with whoever turns out victorious…”

“Loyalty isn’t really your strongest suit, is it?”

“I’m just planning my future. But in case you’re the one who comes back alive, you’ll probably get to count on me”.

“Thank you, Odahviing”, Hanzo said, not entirely reassured.

“Don’t thank me, I’m not doing you a favor. Still, you’ve seen already how I can keep my promises - this won’t be any different”.

“Well excuse me if it wasn’t that obvious…”

“Now you’re insulting your own kind… but come on, it’s time to go. Good hunt, little brother. I wish I could enjoy the show”.

The dragon stirred like a huge cat and stood up. After a short run-up, he spread his wings and took off, leaving only a mischievous laughter in his trail.

And so Hanzo was left alone, in front of Skuldafn and under a stormy black sky.

He clenched his jaws and flared his nostrils, resorting to his whole stock of angry determination.

_Odahviing is right, the time has come. Your time, Hanzo Shimada. Gather whatever guts you’ve ever had in your whole life and bring it on._

His hand went for the bow, but he hesitated. Genji had given him his sword - but not for this. It was for Alduin, the ultimate weapon and the seal to the blood they shared.

Standing on his own at the feet of the looming ruins, Hanzo breathed doubts away and closed his eyes. In the sudden darkness, a distant, dry noise made his ears stand up in alarm.

Gritted teeth, clattering of bones. When he glared at the nearest stairs, he saw it - a draugr, lanky and uncoordinated but dangerous. Hanzo stared at the skull-like face, with the blue glow of dead eyes, and his hand clenched steadily on his bow.

In silence, he nocked an arrow and slid forward, squatting behind a crumbling column.

He’d seen many over the years, bony creatures from a different time, guardians of tombs and dead things bound forever by a cruel curse. He’d fought them with McCree, and had seen worse - and yet now they sent shivers down his spine. The creaking pile of bones walked past him, so close Hanzo could see the remains of reddish beard on the draugr’s chin.

He waited, unseen. He waited until the undead was far down the road, then he jumped to his feet.

The draugr stopped - predictably enough - dead and turned around, but before he could growl, Hanzo released his shot. The arrow pierced the parched skin and old flesh as if they were but straw; the draugr didn’t bleed or moan in pain: it just stared down at the black shaft protruding from its chest in bland perplexity, then collapsed to the ground in a tangle of dented armor and dust.

With a long, soft hiss of relief, Hanzo crouched back against the pillar. When he lowered the bow, he realized his hands were shaking.

_Not like this. I need to be at my best if I’m to have a slight chance to survive, and this time, survival and victory are pretty much synonyms._

A deafening screech tore the skies. Hanzo looked up to see a dragon fly right above him; the creature didn’t see him, but it was too close for his tastes, and its appearance didn’t help Hanzo’s nervousness. At all.

After another deep breath, he swallowed the legitimate bubble of panic that threatened to choke him and stood up again.

He was on his own, and waiting wouldn’t bring anything but more anguish and doubt - the worst companions he could’ve asked for. Sweat made the nape of his neck warm and sticky, but he fought back fear and resumed his walk, slow and keeping his shoulder against the walls.

His feet moved on their own, light and silent, but his brain worked at full speed. All around him, dozens of draugr roamed the ruins; as long as he stayed hidden and made no sound - no loud breaths, no creaking of gravel under his boots - everything was going to be alright. One single false move, one single warning from the undead, and the swarm of dragons would’ve swooped upon him. No matter how much his hands itched for the desire to fight, for battle and honor: he kept his head low and ventured forward.

He kept his kill count to a minimum, only risking a fight with those draugr he couldn’t avoid. Two more fell under his strikes, and eventually, he reached the wide staircase that led up to the platform where the beacon of light shone.

For what felt like hours, thick with horror and expectations, Hanzo crouched behind a boulder covered in dead moss. The air surrounding him was cold and dry, but a drop of sweat still trickled down his back. He waited - again - to check on the patrol of draugr circling the top of the ruins: they were dragging their feet at a slow pace, walking around the platform in unfaltering regular steps. Once one was halfway down the longest side, the second approached, leaving the stairs unguarded for a second.

Such second was Hanzo’s only hope.

Three times they walked in front of him. Three times he bit the tip of his tongue to stop his teeth from chattering and reveal his position. Had they heard the thumping of his heart, he’d stood no chance to reach the light and, hopefully, the passage to Sovngarde.

And when the draugr disappeared for the fourth time, he knew he had to act now, or lose the guts to do it forever.

Sparing one last spark to his loved ones - something between a thought and a prayer - he took yet another arrow from his quiver. It was slippery in his fingers, and he hastily wiped his palms on his legs before nocking it in. Then, he ran.

Only half of the staircase still stood, the other had fallen prey to millennia of wind and rain. The first step, more fragile than he’d expected, crumbled under Hanzo’s weight the moment he jumped on it. With a horrified gasp, he fell forward and his bow slipped from his hand; he managed to grab it before it fell, and without ever looking back he crawled up the debris and up to a niche in the wall. Here he stopped, panting and dizzy from the impending danger.

After a dozen or so of ragged breaths, the two draugr paced somewhere under him. They hadn’t noticed his fall, nor cared about him.

For long he cradled his bow; the arrow, between his knuckles, was hard and dug into his skin. He didn’t care: all that mattered was that it was still there, he hadn’t lost it. He could still fight.

He sunk his teeth into his lower lip and looked up.

How many steps ahead? Dozens, endless, and no grass grew from the long cracks in the stone. Up there, beyond a slender arc, the mysterious golden light shot up to the skies. And beyond that… what? Blood, violence, an afterlife that could’ve disappeared any moment, hadn’t Hanzo stood up for it.

Above him, the dragons flew in circles among the clouds and lightning. They roared - spoke in their own Tongue, and scraps of words scratched his soul. He didn’t catch their meaning, but the mere sound was powerful enough to cover his body in goosebumps.

Their voices.

His voice, one and the same.

He forced his breath to a steady and slow rhythm and tightened his grip on the bow.

Dangerous and impossible as that last step seemed, it was no big deal compared to the trials he’d faced to reach this very moment. Such a tale would’ve sounded absurd, had he heard it in a tavern.

Leather and wood moaned in his fist. His hand wasn’t shaking anymore.

There was no point in denying he was scared, maybe more than he’d ever been. His fear was so absolute it seemed almost distant, detached from him. Too much to stand idle and wait for something - anything - to happen.

He inhaled a lungful of chilled air. It smelled Ike nothing - no trace of grass or dust. Dead, like everything around him.

The wind howled under the archways, and Hanzo looked down at his feet. His boots were covered in dust, worn out after countless miles. Of walking, of running away. Such a long way he’d gone to come here… years of mistakes and of pain, of death and darkness that would’ve never abandoned him. But also years of longing and loss, of love lost and found again. Years of preparation. If anything like destiny existed indeed, then it was its hand that had brought him here, and all that suffering assumed a brand new meaning.

When Hanzo peeked from his niche, he was ready. And this time for real.

He stubbornly ran up the stairs to Skuldafn’s heart, to the light shooting up to the clouds and to the skeletal figure silhouetted in such light. The spoiled noble child, the orphaned kid caring for his brother. The assassin, with a blind loyalty that had led him to sink his blade into Genji’s heart. The lonely wanderer, the mercenary, the victim, the dunmer made whole again by a charming smile and passionate heart.

The Dragonborn.

Hanzo. Just Hanzo.

He was short of breath when he leaped over the last step. The dragon priest looked somewhat like a draugr, only taller. His flowing robes of gold and purple flapped around a dry frame, all sharp bones and gray skin. He hadn’t noticed Hanzo yet, caught by the buzzing of the column of light in front of him.

It was an eerie sound, trembling deep into Hanzo’s soul and shaking his bones. Reverence and terror mixed and faded into a brutal determination.

There were defiance and contempt in the grin that stretched his lips as he stood there, at the end of the platform.

There was no more hesitation in his fingers, closed on the feathered end of an arrow, caressing the bowstring in the experienced touch of a lover.

Magic sizzled on his skin, and the crackling blue sparks of electricity that danced from his fingers shone brighter with the arrow’s inner magic.

The priest stopped his low chanting and turned around. Where Hanzo had expected to see a ghastly parody of a human face was a mask, carved in stone and metal. It had no eyes, and Hanzo briefly regretted it - he wanted to see fear and shock dawn on those ancient features.

He lost no time complaining. Energy flowed through his arms and his whole body poured itself into the shot.

A perfect mark, right in the priest’s throat.

And it led to nothing, because the monstrous creature only tilted his head in mild annoyance.

So Hanzo shot again, walking toward his target. Again and again in a rainfall of storm and arrows, but no matter how many of them now riddled the skeletal being - the priest didn’t move. On his long, scrawny hands a burning white light was starting to form into spheres.The prelude to an attack.

There was no time for another arrow, nor for strategies or refinery. Hanzo froze in place and blinked at the horror staring at him - and the blinding blue of words in a language older than the mountains exploded in his mind.

He didn’t even have to summon the Thu’um, it rolled off his tongue in a roaring shout that drained him of any sensation. Fire, trapped into words and thrown in the face of a dragon’s priest, maybe the last of his kind. The cone of flames burst from Hanzo’s core and invested his opponent in a blaze, turning him into a black shape of ash and darkness.

Hanzo staggered and almost fell back from the effort, blinded by the light and exhausted.

But when he blinked to regain some focus, with his nose full of the smell of fire, he realized he was wrong. There was no smoke. No combustion.

When the Thu’um faded away, the priest was still standing. Only the arrows sticking from his body were gone.

It would’ve been easy to let this failure discourage him. His most powerful weapon had proved itself useless against a being whose powers came from the dragons as well, and Hanzo felt a crack run through his determination.

Easy, yes. But when had his life, his successes ever been easy?

The Thu’um was indeed one of his weapons, but not the only one. The priest shook briefly, clearly struck by the attack, even if not incapacitated, and Hanzo put his bow away.

Around them, the flames were dying in a sizzling whisper. Above it Hanzo heard the screeches of the dragons flying in the clouds; the blasphemy of their language used against them was calling them.

Genji’s sword was heavy against his side. Without thinking twice, banning the implications of a gesture he hadn’t done in a decade or so, Hanzo took it and pulled it from its sheath in a smooth movement. The blade sparkled red and golden with fire and the supernatural light reaching for the skies.

Dragonblade, a sword baptized to destroy the bane of his land. His home. It was more than appropriate to wield it against a dragon priest.

His thighs tensed, and a line of energy shot down his calves and to his feet. In a heartbeat, Hanzo sprinted forward in a furious run - all hunger and wild determination, so fast the ground beneath his boots turned into a blur of gray and black. The priest stumbled to his feet and prepared to attack, as the glow of magic around his frame suggested.

Only twelve - ten - six feet divided Hanzo from his goal.

He jumped.

In the flames and beyond the flames, for a second it felt as if time had stopped existing, like on the Throat of the World. He jumped for such a long time he managed to take in the disbelief in his enemy’s posture, a minute shade of doubt and astonishment in his skinny shoulders and bony back.

The world, and time with it, became real again when Hanzo landed in front of the priest. Magic rippled the hot air, and Hanzo didn’t wait for a counterattack. His sword drew a shining white arc above him and descended upon the old shoulder; rotten fabric and ancient flesh parted in front of the blade with no effort, with no sound but a dry hiss.

The sword cut its way through his opponent’s body and, with one swift movement, it tore his torso in two.

Hanzo’s shoulder strained, and he barely stopped himself from spinning in place when his hit met so little resistance. He glared up at his victim and saw no trace of anything human - no fear or shock - behind the mask.

The body was nearly weightless, with no actual muscles, its strength coming from devotion and centuries of arcane knowledge. Hanzo stumbled forward, and with the priest quickly crumbling into a pile of black dust he found nothing to stop his charge.

He nearly fell on his knees as he leaped over the few remaining steps to the platform originating the beacon; the remains of the priest faded from around his blade, and Hanzo stopped short of falling into…

_What in Oblivion is that?_

Whatever he could’ve expected, it was not this. Panting, his eyes hurting from the glare, he stared down into the abyss opening around a black staff sticking from a vortex of crumbling stones, light and darkness. Predictably enough, it was shaped like a dragon.

And to his supreme horror, Hanzo saw that the demise of the priest was affecting such staff, too. It started to quiver and crack, and with every passing second, the stones around it stopped twirling, and the light faded away.

Dragons screamed in the sky, flying in low circles, ready to destroy the usurper. Danger from above, danger in front of him: Hanzo knew, with a certainty that transcended reason, that he couldn’t waste any more time.

The way to Sovngarde was at his feet, and soon it would’ve closed forever. And since the alternative to jumping into the whirlwind of light was to let dozens of dragon feast upon his body, the choice was easily made.

His hand clenched harder on the sword, and pure instinct pushed him forward.

Into the light.

Out of this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No April's fool jokes here, I swear. It's the real chapter, real stuff happens, and yeah, apparently I'm writing an extra chapter to give those two dorks a proper closure :3
> 
> Odahviing is the Absolute Best, my sassy red pal. I want a dragon, too. Why can't I have one?
> 
> Anyway, thank y'all as usual, I wish you long and bright days of spring :3


	18. Eln arkh men

The blazing light turned into a soft darkness beyond Hanzo’s closed lids. The ground beneath his body, on the contrary, was not soft at all.

He let out a breathless moan and stood still for a long moment, taking in the compilation of assorted pains in his whole body. Burning hands, throbbing knees, chest crushed by his fall… unpleasant, them all, but also rather reassuring. He was still alive, and wherever he was, it was night.

He took a deep breath that made his ribs whine with suffering, and then another one, longer and less painful. Nothing broken, apparently. He squeezed his eyes and cautiously crawled on all four, giving himself some time to recover from the impact.

There was silence all around, and considering how many infuriated dragons had been ready to swoop down on him, it was highly unlikely they’d given up so easily on their prey. Which could only mean Hanzo was not in Skuldafn anymore.

Once he managed to sit back on his haunches, he shivered and opened his eyes.

His next breath turned into an awed gasp.

Impressive was the first word that came to his mind, and yet it was an understatement. The air all around him, crisp and smelling of heather and grass, moved under a gentle breeze that caressed his face. Above his head, a pink and lilac sky spread like a canopy riddled with an infinity of stars, sprayed in silver and pale blue clouds until the horizon.

Hanzo perched himself on Genji’s sword and stood up, shaking. In front of him a staircase of white stone unfurled down into a grassland full of flowers, more than he’d ever seen. It was _definitely_ not Skuldafn, so dismal and dead. As if he needed any more proof.

A creep ran up his spine. He was alone - he knew he was alone, all around him there was no sound but the whisper of the wind, and yet he felt the clear sensation of being observed. When he looked up, the two immense statues at his sides startled him; they were of the same white stone of the steps in front of him, two colossal shapes in flowing robes with serene faces under their hoods. He blinked, and the impression faded, but he could’ve sworn they were smiling at him.

_Am I losing my mind already? This place doesn’t belong to the world I know._

But it all made sense.

This was Sovngarde, shining under the stars in the absolute quiet of the underworld.

It was not cold, but Hanzo’s teeth still chattered in the warm spring weather. He grabbed his sword and took a tentative step down the hill, where the fields bloomed in a chaos of anemones and heather, daisies and dandelions, indifferent to seasons. Nothing happened when he moved, so he stared far into the horizon in search of buildings or people, but all he saw was a thick white mist.

His throat clenched suddenly with tears he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the absolute beauty surrounding him, maybe it was the realization that such a place of peace was in danger, and he was the only one who could save it, but that aura of mysticism and legends was rendering him speechless.

Hanzo walked down the stair at a slow, cautious pace. And with every step, his skepticism - _is this really Sovngarde? -_ paled and vanished. This was not Skyrim, not even Tamriel itself, and everything was too silent and empty, despite the breeze and the scent of flowers.

Once more, like all those times up to High Hrothgar, he tried to count the steps, but it was impossible. Whenever he looked back, the path seemed to go on forever, and the statues were gone, swallowed by the mist. And such mist was approaching in front of him; he didn’t need to enter it to realize something was off: suddenly, the air was too warm and heavy, like in a cloudy summer afternoon - but not really. It was the same heat he’d felt by the Greybeards, when he’d touched Paarthurnax’s scales or rode Odahviing’s back.

The thought of Alduin, lurking in the fog, played like an off-key note in Sovngarde’s melody. Hanzo looked up to the sky and found it empty and sparkling with stars, and yet the presence of the World-Eater was now everywhere, carved into his bones and nerves.

He was there, Hanzo knew it; what he didn’t know was exactly _where_. Stalking in the mists.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He wouldn’t recoil from the battle, but he needed to find the enemy, first, so when he reached the pale wall of clouds in front of him he banned fear and held his breath. Head low, jaws clenched and sword at the ready, he walked into the fog.

Suddenly, he was blind, but not alone as he'd thought. Even if sounds carried in weird ways in the thick layer that pressed against his ears and made his hair damp, if he stood very still and listened attentively he could hear a distant whisper, footsteps, words muttered into the void.

He walked in that direction since everything around him was evenly white and shapeless. It was clearly not a dragon speaking, and this was good news; worst case scenario, he would’ve met somebody he could’ve asked directions to.

_Look at me, getting lost in Sovngarde and needing assistance. I would laugh, weren’t I about to risk my life._

The deeper he ventured into the mist, the clearer the voice became. A human voice, high pitched and scared. Young. Instinct spurred him and he almost ran blindly to the source of the sound; whoever this person was, they needed help, and he couldn't ignore their needs.

As he approached the sound, he grasped more details. The stranger was sobbing, and either the sound came from a girl or from a child. Hanzo trembled at the thought of someone dying so young yet so bravely to earn a place in Sovngarde, but he stubbornly marched on.

Not a graceful path, the one he’d chosen: he held one arm forward and the other in front of his face to search and avoid any obstacle. It was warmer, almost insufferably so here in the fog, but the sweat that beaded on his forehead was chilled.

He was getting closer to his target, their words almost made sense now, and if he squinted he could maybe see a shadow in the whiteness in front of him.

_Almost there…_

The ground beneath his feet quivered, and the skies echoed with a booming roar. Hanzo stopped dead with his ears flat against his head and looked up.

An immense black shape glided right above the mist and then disappeared.

_Alduin!_

Hanzo ran forward in the dragon’s direction, but he was gone. Looming in the darkness, ready to strike again, perhaps even unaware of the Dragonborn hunting him - he was still somewhere around.

Hanzo licked his chapped lips and resumed his run, not as quick as he’d wanted since he didn’t trust his feet without the aid of his eyes. The stranger was still weeping in front of him, and there was still a chance to rescue them, if only…

The next step was pure dread. The tip of his boot didn’t meet the reassuring solidity of the ground; it jutted out into the emptiness of a precipice, whose edge was quickly crumbling under Hanzo’s foot.

He froze, and only now he allowed his fear to overcome him. For a horrible moment he stood there, teetering on the brink of an inglorious death. It was not the terror of Skuldafn, the gateway to his fate, nor the tangible forecast of losing his life in battle. In front of him opened the Gods knew how many feet of cliff, and at its bottom, his demise awaited.

When his muscles relaxed just enough to let him take a step back, he couldn’t run anymore. He scanned his brain for words of encouragement, but only found a blank canvas of horror. He slowly crawled his way back, gasping every time he got too close to the precipice, hating the idea of dying like this.

The voice was still there, and eventually, when his legs were wobbly with fatigue and fear, Hanzo saw a vague gray shape gain definition.

Alduin glided again above him, but now Hanzo had only eyes for the slender person shaking in front of him.

A girl, no older than sixteen, wearing a worn Stormcloak armor too big for her.

She stared at Hanzo with huge eyes full of fear and shook her head.

“Turn back, traveler! Terror awaits within the mists. Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way!”

Hanzo jumped forward and took her by her shoulders, stopping short of shaking her.

She was real, solid and warm under his palms, not the ethereal shade he thought dead were. It somehow reassured him.

“This mist - what is it? It’s not natural, it’s… wrong, what…”

“I do not know”, the young Stormcloak replied in a teary voice. Her ginger braids hung damp on her shoulders. “But none can pass through. It’s Alduin’s snare, and in this mist he devours the souls of the dead”. She sniffed and shivered; Hanzo, in the chaotic whirlwind of adrenaline, felt the irrational need to comfort her. “I want to reach the Hall of Valor, but I don’t want to die again. It… was scary”.

“What happened to you?”

“My mother didn’t want me to go to war. We’d lost my brother Wulfila already, and… and I thought it was my duty to avenge him. To finish what he had started”. She wiped her eyes with her arm and looked into Hanzo’s. “It was an ambush. The other Stormcloaks and I were camping south of Windhelm, and then there were fires and screams and… and the last thing I remember before the darkness was an arrow here”, she said, pointing at her chest. “I saw it wiggle and I couldn’t breathe, and when I woke up I was here. Please, I want to cross through the mists, but I can’t do it on my own…”

“Alright, alright”. Hanzo frantically looked around, but everything was white and impenetrable. “Maybe I can find a way, young… er… what’s your name again?”

“Frigga”. She sounded almost incredulous, and how long had it been since she’d last spoken her name?

“Good, Frigga. Stay behind me and don’t let go of me. I’m going to do something that’s either very dangerous or very efficient - maybe both. Just… wait”.

He was less than convinced it could work. This was no ordinary storm, it had nothing to do with the clouds and snow he’d Shouted off the mountain on his way to the Throat of the World, and maybe it would’ve doomed them both. Still, he needed to try.

He closed his eyes and summoned the golden blaze of his dragon soul.

The words burst from his core and shook the world.

_Lokh vah koor_

This time, his strength didn’t falter under the struggle of the Thu’um - practice, perhaps, or more likely despair gave his voice power and purpose. He peeked through his lashes, shaking just a bit, to see the mists part in front of them.

Frigga let out a soft gasp of surprise, and Hanzo blinked and almost smiled.

Before relief could root inside him, though, he saw the hills gain definition.

And they were not hills at all. Too black and spiky, too evil.

Perched on a great boulder, Alduin frowned when his red eyes focused on Hanzo.

How long they stood like this, staring at each other in baffled hesitation? Hanzo couldn’t tell, and his brain wouldn’t cooperate properly. Out of words, of thoughts, of wits, he shivered when the dragon slowly opened his jaws, showing a flash of white fangs and the red menace of his throat and tongue.

Alduin’s shoulders tensed, and Hanzo roused at once. Everything in his head cleared as if under a gust of wind, and his body shot into action before he could think twice.

“Down!” he cried out. He jumped forward, and Frigga was caught completely off guard by the impact. She huffed as Hanzo tackled her to the ground, and tensed all over when he shielded her with his body.

It only lasted a second, because when Alduin flew upon them, missing them by inches and ruffling Hanzo’s hair, the girl curled in his arms and went completely still.

Hanzo stood like this for another small eternity; his knees burned where he’d scratched them in the fall, and Frigga was but a small, frail bundle in his arms.

Eventually, he raised his head and looked above him. The great black shadow was gone, but he could still hear Alduin’s outraged curses.

“Is… is he gone?” Frigga asked, gingerly untangling from Hanzo’s grip. He realized he was growling with frustration, and also that he was probably crushing the poor kid under his weight, so he quickly got up and took Frigga with him. She looked scared, with her pale green eyes round and shiny with tears, but mostly unharmed.

“For now, and not very far”, he hissed back. He scanned the horizon, but there was only mist, thick and deadly.

This was not _his_ afterlife. He was a dunmer, resigned to an eternity of nothingness in Sithis’ Void. But now Sovngarde had a face - too young to die, too innocent to deserve the fate of falling once more, and forever, by the hunger of the World Eater.

_What am I supposed to do? I’d never thought I could’ve come so far, and now…_

A small calloused hand squeezed his arm. Hanzo blinked and looked to his side; Frigga was not much shorter than him, but she was still a child - solemn and pale among her freckles.

“You’re different. Alive, yes but…” Her mouth opened in surprise. In hope, maybe? “You’re Dragonborn!”

“A very useless Dragonborn as of now, but…”

Frigga shook him until Hanzo was paying her his full attention.

“There’s a safe place here in Sovngarde. Alduin can’t enter the Hall of Valor, we must go there!”

Hanzo fumbled for an answer, but the sky darkened once more - Alduin was back for his prey.

He bared his blade and pushed Frigga behind him.

“Is this why you were heading there?”

“There’s light in Shor’s home. Help. For you, too”.

“Then you must show me the way”. He brusquely took her hand and pulled her along. “Quickly, now!”

The clouds trembled with Alduin’s wrath, but Hanzo was running already. Frigga was faster than him, and predictably enough unbothered by fatigue or short breath. Hanzo tried very hard not to think that the girl was dead already.

When they were not stumbling in the fog - Hanzo was reluctant to Shout again and reveal their position to the enemy - the world around them was nothing but a blur of green slopes and pale distant mountains under a starry indigo sky. Somewhere waters ran and fell, loud and thundering, but Hanzo didn’t stop to investigate their origin.

He considered fear an old friend by now: he’d risked his life more often than he could count, and memories of his failed execution or of Blackreach’s eerie beauty would’ve haunted him forever. Now it was different - fear was part of his bones and ran in his veins as much as blood, and he had no time to fight it back.

This was his own fight, one he could count on himself for.

Every now and then he saw Alduin bolt through the clouds, but Frigga didn’t let him indulge or slow their pace. When gravel rattled under their feet, though, he looked down.

They’d found the way, a slender path that slithered up a sturdy rocky hill in front of them.

Hanzo tried to comment, to express a demented hope - they were not safe yet, but soon… - but his mouth tasted like copper from the long run, his chest ached and his heart thumped in his ears.

Even if his pride protested vehemently, he didn’t refuse Frigga’s hands when they started to climb their way to the top. They zig-zagged among pale boulders and bushes of heather, and more than once the girl had to spur Hanzo forward with frantic whispers of encouragement, pulling him here and there when his legs gave way.

“Too… easy for you”, he grunted, stumbling on the last few steps to the top. Frigga turned around and smiled, and dimples appeared on her round cheeks.

“Come on, we’re almost there!”

She spoke the truth. Hanzo pushed a loose strand from his eyes: they had stopped, and Alduin was nowhere in sight for now. But when he managed to catch his breath, he had to blink several times to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. And even after that, and after having rubbed his eyes so hard his lids tingled and small white light danced in front of him, he wasn’t sure at all this wasn’t a huge absolute fantasy.

The colossal ivory bridge in front of him was incredible enough, and Hanzo gasped when he noticed it was not made of any kind of stone he’d ever seen: those were _bones._ Spiky vertebrae and ribs, each as big as Paarthurnax’s neck- that was not a mere bridge. It was a full dragon’s skeleton, thrown across a deep cliff where waters rumbled wildly.

Hanzo gaped, speechless. A dragon that big could’ve swallowed Alduin whole, and he was getting tired of thinking he’d seen the biggest specimen of their kin only to find out there was a bigger, meaner one yet.

When the grass rustled with the sound of slow, heavy steps, though, he reconsidered his own surprise.

The light of the stars vanished from him when someone stood behind him. Someone so impossibly tall and imposing he barely dared to turn around to investigate who this newcomer was.

But in the end, more out of stubbornness than of actual courage, he turned his head - and found himself confronted with a very hairy stomach. He looked up - and then up again, until his neck protested for the excessive stretching. On top of a neck as thick as his thigh was a squared face, with piercing black eyes that flared at Hanzo with cold perplexity.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde, soul’s end, Shor’s gift to mankind?”

“Tsun, please, let us pass! The World Eater is at our neck already”, Frigga begged him. Hanzo deeply envied her bravery, because as of now all he could do was groan at yet another challenge.

“Who… are you?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off the giant towering over him.

As solemn as his appearance was, there was no malice in Tsun’s eyes; on the contrary, they briefly sparkled with kindness when they lay on the girl at Hanzo’s side.

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor”.

“W-Whalebone bridge? So those are not dragon bones”. Hanzo felt a pang of shame at his utter relief. Whales were scary enough when traveling by sea, but the realization that this was not another monstrous foe he had to fight made his head light. He cleared his throat and bit back a hysterical giggle before looking back at Tsun. “As Frigga said, Alduin’s hunting us. We must enter the Hall of Valor, so if you haven’t got anything to object…”

The determined step he took toward the bridge was short lived. Tsun’s impressive arm blocked his way, and Hanzo felt anger bubble to his head once more.

"No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

Hanzo’s knuckles cracked on the sword and he bared his teeth. No matter if Tsun was twice as tall as he was, and no mortal opponent he could’ve faced with his skills alone - right now he was but an obstacle to his nerve-wracking quest.

And Hanzo Shimada was not a patient man.

“Yes, I’m alive, and I would very much like not to change my status. And I’m here to defeat Alduin - no, don’t interrupt me”, he snapped when Tsun opened his mouth to speak again in that otherworldly deep voice of his. “I’m Dragonborn. I didn’t ask for this, and I’m probably the least suitable candidate for the role, but…”

Tsun’s somber face brightened at once.

“Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood!”

“Are you serious? Look, I’m known for never backing away from a challenge, but I won’t condemn an innocent soul to eternal nothingness because of… of bureaucracy!”, he growled, pointing at Frigga. Tsun was not impressed: he stared dispassionately at Hanzo, then turned his face to the stars.

“Noble are your motives, and understandable, but these rules were written when this land was young still, and…”

Hanzo blacked out for a moment. Tsun was still speaking but he wasn’t listening anymore, and time threw him back to another moment of his life, dark as shadows and viciously sweet like blood. Genji’s sword seemed to come to life in his hand, and he didn’t stop to wonder if it was blasphemy or yet another source of trouble.

The blade flashed in the eternal twilight. Tsun’s skin and flesh parted in front of its edge, and Hanzo pushed it forward with his full strength.

Tsun didn’t falter, no blood dripped from the wound - an impressive one, since the entirety of the blade was now engulfed in his side - and just frowned, staring down at Hanzo.

“Is this what you call honor, Dragonborn? Attacking an unguarded opponent?” The giant raised his arm to take the big axe hanging from his back, but Hanzo shook his head.

“I’m the Dragonborn, yes, and I’m an assassin. Now, if you want to see me fight, then be it”, he snarled, twisting the sword with a loud creaking of leather from his gloves, “but not now. Give me a moment to take Frigga to the Hall of Valor: she deserves this, and she would be there already, weren’t it for the World Eater lurking in the mists. Then, if you still want to see if I’m worthy, keep your eyes open, because I’m going to kill Alduin himself. Would that be enough for you?”

Small flashes of electricity sparkled around his fingers as magic awoke without his consent. Such was the power of his frustrated anger, and Tsun tilted his head to the side. apparently, having some feet of cold metal piercing his stomach was no big deal for him.

“Is that so, then? Not for yourself and your glory, but for duty you seek entrance to our sacred place…”

“If this will make you reconsider your rules, then yes”.

Tsun never blinked. He slowly let his arm fall to his side and took a step back, freeing himself from Hanzo’s sword with no apparent effort. Somewhere in the distance, Alduin roared his challenge again, and Hanzo shivered with tension. The blade, clean as it was before, was suddenly heavy in his hands, as heavy was his breath.

Frigga stood at his side, casting worried glances to the sky, but she, too, didn’t lose her resolve.

“It is as I told you, Tsun. If we’re to have a chance, if Sovngarde is to have a chance, then you must let us pass. I’m just a casualty, but he is the hero we’ve been waiting for…”

“So be it”, Tsun said eventually, and in his timeless gaze respect flickered briefly. “Go, and may Shor watch over your battles. For this soul’s sake”, and he bowed to Frigga, “and us all”.

“Thank you”, Hanzo gasped out in unbearable relief. Frigga shook him from his confusion and took his arm, resuming their run on light feet. Tsun watched them go, and Hanzo, before he could step on the bone bridge, turned to give him a quick nod. He hoped Tsun could interpret it as an apology.

When he looked again in front of him, though, his nerves sizzled with fear.

Their steps made a sharp dry sound on the old bones, and the bridge didn’t sway under their weight; still, large gaps opened among the white flat ribs they were running on, showing the depths of a roaring abyss. At its bottom, a large river swelled and jumped among sharp rocks, raising waves of foam and howling in the echoing pit.

Hanzo tried to swallow, but his throat was tightly clenched.

_Don’t look down, it won’t do you any good._

Above their heads. the ropes holding the bridge into place moaned with the wind, and such an unsettling sound could’ve rivaled Alduin’s voice in volume.

Alduin, as if summoned by Hanzo’s thoughts, choose that very moment - when Hanzo and his young guide were halfway down the path - to appear again as if from nothing. Frigga stopped abruptly, and Hanzo almost tumbled her over, when the black dragon emerged from under the bridge with a nasty sneer and cruel crimson eyes.

“ _You came a long way to search for a fight you can’t win, Dovahkiin_!”

Hanzo felt like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk - furious but powerless, the sword shaking in his fist.

Frigga pulled him so hard he almost fell to his knees.

“Don’t listen to him, just run!” she yelled, and the urgency in her voice snatched Hanzo from his trance. He followed her again while Alduin flapped his wings to take over them.

At the end of the bridge, the Hall of Valor was an imposing black barricade against the purple sky, with tall, slender windows shining with gold and fire. It meant hope and shelter, and Hanzo forgot everything to speed up and get there.

And they almost made it. Alduin couldn’t maneuver properly in closed spaces, and he had to go a full circle in the sky to get to them again; Hanzo saw him fold his wings to fall upon them, but they were almost there. Frigga jumped the last slab of bone, and soon after Hanzo, too, landed on the solid ground in front of the palace.

Alduin caught them.

Hanzo did the only reasonable thing he could think of, and one he wasn’t even particularly proud to carry out: he stood in front of Frigga and violently pushed her to the doors.

The girl barely kept herself from falling on her back, her braids swinging on her shoulders and her eyes huge with horror.

“Go!” He cried out, and before he could know whether she’d made it or no, he had to turn around and prepare to fight.

He squinted against the wind the immense black wings rose, sickeningly hot. At the corner of his eye, the door was so ridiculously close - less than ten steps to safety. But maybe he could’ve gained Frigga some time.

_If I can’t save them all, I’ll save this one._

Alduin threw his head back, and his chest stretched when he breathed air in, only to spit out fire. Hanzo awaited with horror the wave of flames that would’ve ended his life and destroyed the world as everyone had known it.

What he thought was his last breath was not made of fear as he’d expected, but of love. One last, burning heartbeat for those he was leaving behind, a family born of blood and choice.

_I’m so sorry…_

He closed his eyes right when a burning golden light invested him from behind. And this was weird enough already, since Alduin was right in front of him, ready to strike.

It all happened before he could think it clearly. Hanzo let out an incoherent noise of frustration when huge, strong hands grabbed him by his arms and threw him back like a puppet.

His protests - confused as they were - turned into a legitimate cry when he found himself literally flying mid-air. He stumbled into an undignified pile of muscles and outrage, sliding on a smooth floor of stone tiles, and he rolled once or twice before stopping against a table.

He hit it with his head, and above him, plates and tankards tinked and fell around him. Teary-eyed, with a painful bump on his skull, he was not so sure he was sitting in the right position, all slumped and askew, but he knew what he was seeing.

Alduin’s Thu’um made the very foundations of Sovngarde shake, but the fireball from his mouth never reached past the tall gates. They closed on their own, and Hanzo was left sprawled on the floor, looking at the fury of the firstborn of Akatosh clashing against an impenetrable barrier.

When the doors slammed shut, all was left of Alduin’s roar was a distant echo.

Hanzo closed his eyes in a silent prayer. It was quiet around him now, but far from silent - there was music, drums and harps playing in the distance, many voices chattered everywhere, and the whole hall smelled pleasantly like roasting meat and melting wax.

He recognized Frigga’s excited tones, and after that a booming laughter. When he came back to himself he opened his eyes to find, in front of his nose, two feet almost as big as Tsun’s.

“... and he found me in the mists and took me here, he saved me from Alduin not once but _twice,_ can you believe it, Reinhardt?”

“I do, child, I do!”

Hanzo looked up at the mountain of a man looming above him. No, he was nothing like Tsun, even if he was but an inch shorter. This one was human, or had been in his life, a man with white hair and beard, a missing eye and a smile that shone as bright as the many burning fireplaces scattered on the walls.

“You saved me…” he said, but Reinhardt, if that was his name, hauled him to his feet like a boy no older than five, thoroughly patting his chest and back to make sure he was alright. And he was, even with those kind and brutal attentions.

“It was nothing special, my friend, nothing at all!” He took Hanzo by his shoulders and inspected him, shaking him a bit. “I’m Reinhardt Wilhelm, once Harbinger of the Companions, now just one of the merry souls thriving in Sovngarde - and if the tales I hear are true, you’re Dragonborn”.

“I… I am”, Hanzo replied, a bit confused.

“Come here, then!”, and he took Hanzo in a bear hug that emptied his lungs of air.

Buried in Reinhardt’s hands, Hanzo barely managed to take a peek around him. The music had quieted down, and some dozen people were approaching them. As he quietly slipped from the strong embrace, he saw many heads turning toward them - toward him - and Frigga, too, was there. When she saw Hanzo get back on his feet, she smiled, and then smiled some more when she saw someone making his way through the crowd.

A boy, not much older than her, dark of hair as Frigga was fair - and an Imperial armor. They embraced among a chorus of cheers, and for a moment Hanzo remembered what peace and victory meant.

Reinhardt saw the sweetness of such a though shine in his eyes, because he smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Here, in the very heart of Sovngarde, there’s room for fighting, but not for war or hatred”, he said, his voice lower and gentle. “This is a place to rest after a lifetime of struggle, and it feels like going back home after a long, long time”.

“Home…” Hanzo whispered back, and a sweet warmth spread across his body. Home, for him, was not tall ceilings and roaring fireplaces: it was darkness and quiet, secrets and kisses exchanged when nobody was looking. It was the smile of his brother, McCree’s lips. And it was where he wanted to go back to.

But of course, he couldn’t tell the proud heroes of Sovngarde that this place was not what he was dreaming of. Still, he smiled politely, lowering his face to hide the emotion glimmering in his eyes.

He saw them because they, too, looked larger than an average Nord. Three figures standing one head taller than the crowd were walking toward him - and Hanzo recognized them at once.

“Wait, I… I know you!” he said, frowning.

He immediately regretted his outburst, because he didn’t know how forbidden was his meddling with the Elder Scroll, but Gormlaith giggled like a young girl.

“Surprises never end - not only you’re a living being, but a living legend too!”

“Hush, sister, you’re making him uncomfortable!” Hakon snapped, and he, too, smiled at Hanzo. The effect was not quite as charming as Gormlaith’s, thanks to some scars too many and a missing eye.

“Mph. it’s not as if we don’t know each other, you know? I saw him…”

Felldir shook his head and took a step forward, stopping Hanzo before he could frown some more and ask questions.

“I know what you’re wondering: yes, Dragonborn, we perceived your presence that day at the Throat of the World. You were rippling the veil of time… you were _there,_ even if not _then._

Hanzo nodded, confused. The three heroes were oddly intimidating, and not just because of their height: they seemed to glow faintly in gold, and it was distracting.

“I was. I needed to find out how to fight Alduin, and you showed me the way, even if you didn’t know it. You have my gratitude”.

“And you our apologies, for our victory has only delayed your demise”, Hakon said, subdued. “It was not our intention”.

“You still did more than me”, Hanzo chuckled mirthlessly. “For now, at least…”

“That’s why we’re so glad to see you”, Gormlaith said, and her face twisted into the sneer of a predator. She grabbed the hilt of her sword and slowly unsheathed it. “Alduin’s doom is now ours to seal - just speak the word and with high hearths we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks!”.

Her brother cheered loudly, and indeed it was hard not to let Gormlaith’s enthusiasm spread all around, but while Hanzo slowly came to realize that those were his allies for good, Felldir shook his head and stepped among them.

“Hold, comrades - let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare - its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak”, he said, and Hanzo agreed: that mist was an enemy on its own. “But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle".

"Felldir speaks wisdom - the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

“So you… you just want me to Shout the clouds away?” Hanzo asked, slightly unease. It seemed too easy.

“No, Alduin is to be slain, but it’s his spell we must vanquish, first”, Felldir explained. Now that he was not in the middle of the battle, he didn’t seem as frightening as in Hanzo’s memories. “Can you do it, Dragonborn? Each of us is the other’s best chance to save his world”.

The truth brought along an unexpected sense of calm. Hanzo felt the dreadful terror of the last hours drip from him in dark rivulets, and in its place, everything seemed to straighten and gain clarity.

No, it was not going to be easy. Not at all.

But it was possible.

Despite the many people - countless, if he focused long enough on them - crowded around him, Hanzo felt like he was alone in the middle of the Hall of Valor. The music was gone, and a soft darkness grew into him. Not that of cold nights and creepy shadows, but the coy silence of a familiar bedroom after the lights are put out - safe, sheltered.

_So many wrong steps led me eventually on the right path, and this is where I was supposed to be._

He clenched his teeth, and his hand went to Genji’s sword. It fit perfectly around the hilt, born to close around a weapon.

His first step forward was slow and heavy.

_I’ve been a son and a brother, an assassin, a traitor. A lover, and a brother again. And now I’m the only solution. Despite everything, I’m given this chance to atone, and I’ll make the most out of it._

One more step.

He bared his blade and turned around, staring briefly at Gormlaith, Hakon, and Felldir and smirking at their noble composure.

The war - _his_ war - was going to end now.

“Come, then. I grow tired of waiting”.

And the whole Hall of Valor exploded into raucous roars of joy, and Reinhardt was the most enthusiastic of them all.

Gormlaith was the first to run and reach Hanzo, her cheeks rosy under the blue face paint.

"To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted."

The tall doors opened once more, and Hanzo sprinted under Reinhardt’s nose and bright look.

At once, he was outside, under the sky with its stars, relentlessly swallowed by the mist. Soon, he, too, became one with the thick shroud, to the point he lost sight of the three heroes.

A deep voice rumbled from the void.

Alduin was there, too.

_“Why are you here, Dovahkiin?”_

How well Hanzo’d learned to recognize that voice, cold and rumbling, and as every other time he’d heard it, his body clenched in fear. But this time, Hanzo fought it.

he’d been terrified when he’d heard it the first time; back then, it was nothing but a growl among the ruins of a burning town; and Hanzo had stood there, shaking and powerless, when he’d heard it the second time, from a memory made flesh. On the Throat of the World, when he’d failed to defeat his foe, he’d spat hatred and frustration.

Now, instead, fear was an old friend who only wanted him to survive.

He took a deep breath and found his voice.

“Don’t be redundant, Alduin”, he whispered, certain that he was going to be heard nonetheless.

Felldir shouted a warning, but his words were muffled in Hanzo’s ears.

The World Eater was still unseen, even if his presence was everywhere, looming and stalking. Predictable, Hanzo thought: things heard but not seen are twice as scary.

_“I can’t say you’re not trying your best, and I may even admire your spirit, but you don’t stand a chance. You came here to die, fool of a joor”._

Hanzo smirked, fully aware that the dragon could see him. Exactly what he wanted.

“I should have died a hundred different times in the last six months, but I’m still here. if someone’s a fool, here, that’s you, _Al-Du-In”._

When he heard his true name, spoken in the Voice of the Dov, Alduin’s rage blazed so hot the world shook under Hanzo’s feet. Red flashes lightened up the clouds, and loud thuds made the ground jump and tremble.

_“Don’t you dare to speak my name, you filthy worm! you’re not worthy, murdered and traitor!”_

Despite the danger closing in on him, Hanzo couldn’t but laugh in earnest. Alduin was angry, while he was still relatively calm - it was evident whose teasing was more effective.

_“You think yourself strong. You think you can defeat me, can’t you, Dovahkiin? But I know the truth. I can sense your fear”._

Among the thunders rumbling from the ground, Hanzo heard the clanking of armored steps, and soon caught a glimpse of shadows running in the mists.

Despite the hot air around him, his fingers and nose were cold. He decided not to lie or pretend.

“I am afraid, yes. When else am I supposed to be brave, otherwise? But you’re scared too, Alduin, am I right?”

Felldir was the first to appear at his side, followed shortly after by the two brothers. When they joined Hanzo, Alduin decided to reveal his position, flying close to the mist and screaming out his rage.

“ _Obey me! I told you not to use my name!”_

Felldir put his hand on Hanzo’s wrist. His pale, ancient eyes, barely visible in the fog, was made of steel and courage. At his side, Hakon and Gormlaith burned with the flame of determination.

“Join us, Dragonborn”, the old man said softly, and Hanzo nodded, grim.

“Obey? You, dragon?” he snarled, raising his sword. The bow, forgotten, and the quiver, empty after so many falls, were silent against his back. A familiar weight that reminded him of his past and present.

Blood ran faster in his veins.

He was angry, yes. And he welcomed this anger as the fuel he needed to move forward.

He took a deep breath, and around him, the heroes did the same.

The world went still, suspended in the moment before the Shout.

Behind Hanzo’s closed lids, everything was gold and amethyst, Words throbbed in his soul and on his tongue.

When he unleashed his Thu’Um he couldn’t recognize his voice. Raising as one with those of the heroes, it was powerful enough to make his knees weak and his heart race.

The mists rang with the force of ages of knowledge.

_Lok Vah Koor_

His ears were still ringing with the last vibrations of the Shout, and around him the mists faded, blown away by his Thu’um. Among the thin pale clumps, dispersing under gusts of crisp air, Hanzo saw Alduin.

Offended, the World Eater spewed out a growl of pure beastly fury; he pointed his head to the sky, not starry anymore, but heavy with leaden clouds, and he disappeared beyond a rocky crest. In the darkness, flashes of light burst, white and blue and crackling with electricity.

Gromlaith followed Hanzo’s stare and shook her head.

“Those are not lightnings, as much as what’s just happened was no mere earthquake”.

She was right, and Hanzo realized it in the most brutal way. The clearing in front of the Hall of Valor was riddled with smoking craters - and this explained both the rumbling thuds and the lightnings.

“Quick, beyond the bridge!” Hakon spurred them. “We need space to force that black worm to land!”

Hanzo staggered. All the self-confidence he’d felt just seconds ago crumbled, leaving room for the distressing memory of his own body, worn and aching, emptied of every strength after he’d Shouted Alduin to the ground.

Felldire read through the anguish on his face and frowned.

“Dovahkiin, our duty is to help you. Count on our support and our powers to bring this task to completion - I promise you, this time Dragonrend won’t crush you”.

“Anyway, the bridge…” Hakon stepped in, pointing at the bare bones with his thumb.

Hanzo pressed his lips together and took a moment to tie his hair back. The simple gesture, so trivial and familiar, helped him to recollect himself.

“You speak the truth, I suppose. In any case, it’s pointless to stay here and chat - we’re going”. He squinted at his three companions, and Dragonblade seemed to rejoice in his newfound determination. “We’re going now”.

He was the first to set foot on the colossal skeleton. Apparently, Sovngarde was washing away his exhaustion, or the urgency of the moment was raising above his physical necessities, because his run was as swift as ever, his resolve not faltering. beneath him, the river foamed and jumped among the rapids, and Hanzo knew better than to look at the depths opening under his feet - or to the hell of thunder and lightning above his head.

He knew the heroes were at his heels, so he just kept his eyes on the horizon in front of him.

McCree’s words burned in his heart - _You’ll be back in my arms, and this time there’ll be no dragons to keep us apart_ \- and Hanzo cradled them to his heart.

He needed to believe them, too.

The moment he jumped over the last huge whale rib, Alduin burst out from behind a hill once more.

There was no trace of irony or mocking on his spiky head; maybe there’d never been, but right now, all Hanzo could see was an ancestral, passionate hatred, as ancient as Tamriel itself if not even more.

Hanzo screeched to a halt, rising a cloud of dust and gravel around his feet, and stared at the dragon hovering mid-air.

Each flap of his black wings was like a slap in his face, and Gormlaith hissed a long theory of curses through her teeth.

 _“You_ will _die, Dragonborn. And once you’re dead, I’ll devour what’s left of you. It will be as if you’ve never existed - and then I’ll do the same with every single mortal soul in this place. The Father himself will shake in front of my power!”_

Hanzo’s mouth felt dry, but those words rekindled his sass.

“Please, Alduin, you can do better. Odahviing is much more brilliant than you!”

And he threw himself to the ground a second before the flames invested him. They sizzled all around him, turning grass and shoots to ash and burning on Hanzo’s back and neck. The stones around him split with a loud crack, and despite the danger, Hanzo cheered inwardly: he’d hit a nerve.

“ _Traitor! he, too, shall suffer for his decisions!”_

“Dragonborn, stop teasing him!” Felldir cried out, raging. Hanzo saw from the corner of his eye that he was putting up a small fire from his sleeve.

Rolling on his side, he jumped to his feet, and Alduin took flight again.

“ _You tried to humiliate me once, joor, and what for? You couldn’t even lift a finger, hadn’t it been for my treacherous brother you’d be dead already. it won’t work!”_

“I wouldn’t bet on it”. Hanzo moved to the side and sneered. “you were so busy chatting with me you didn’t even notice them!”

“And to say I remember you fondly, you disgusting monster!” Gormlaith boomed, a killer smile on her lips and her blonde hair fluttering around her face like a halo.

Alduin snapped his head up. For a moment, fleeting as a thought, in his red eyes flashed something human: marvel. Fear.

“Now!” Felldir called, and Hanzo was ready to act.

He breathed in so deeply his shoulders and ribcage hurt, then some more, until his mind went blank but for the golden light of an old, forgotten language filling him to the brim.

Again, the Thu’Um exploded from his core, but this time it was so powerful the skies themselves seemed to shrink in awe. Fuelled by the energy of four warriors, it invaded Sovngarde, and Hanzo retained enough of his focus to witness Alduin gape in panic.

_Joor Za Frul_

As the words ripped reality, Hanzo knew Felldir had been sincere: this time it was different, and he could see electric shocks and sparks of blue energy coil around his hands and arms, dancing in front of his eyes - but he was still himself. he lifted his sword and, dizzy with excitement, put his whole being in the strong grip around the hilt.

Alduin’s roar rose and twisted into a frustrated shriek that ended with a thunderous fragor when, dragged down by the Shout, he tumbled to the ground. The sky echoed the dragon’s wrath and poured on them a rain of fireballs and meteors that made the fields explode and burn all around them.

“Go get him!” Hakon said, pushing Hanzo forward. “Let us take care of this spell falling from the clouds!”

“Yes - I… yes!” Hanzo replied, and he knew there was more he had to say. Thank you, stay strong, fight with me… but he couldn’t speak. Hakon winked at him with his only eye, encouraging, and Hanzo knew words were unnecessary.

He jumped forward and sprinted to reach Alduin.

And again, like in their previous encounters, he went weak in the knees at how big he was, a black mountain that sparkled in blue, all fangs, talons and homicidal fury. A beast so huge he could’ve swallowed the world for good - but a beast nonetheless. The idea was oddly comforting: Alduin was nothing but a trapped animal.

Alduin, squatted among the grass, grasped at the ground with restless claws, but could do little except for glaring at Hanzo.

“ _What do you think you’re doing now, you parasite, you thief of a power that’s not your own? You can’t kill me - and you have no Elder Scroll to trick me either!”_

The dragon’s terrible voice now wasn’t coming from every direction: it was there, in front of him, real and loud, but just a voice.

Still, the question was interesting and it deserved an answer.

“No, you’re right. But that’s not my style: I’m going for something more drastic, this time”.

Sure, Alduin was grounded and couldn’t fly, but killing him was not an easy task at all. Hanzo circled the vast creature, deep in thought: to cause significant damage, he needed to strike Alduin’s most vulnerable spots, like his eyes or throat, and they were all well guarded by a fang-crowded mouth. He could’ve ended up into a pile of ash in a heartbeat. Even worse, the effects of the Thu’Um were not permanent, and Alduin would soon enough be able to take flight again, unless…

Memories of that first fight in front of Whiterun’s gates, the one that had changed everything, came back to his mind and forged his doubts into a thought - a disgustingly unfair, scaringly efficient one. he could’nt ignore it.

It was not an honorable tactic, but what honor was there in discarding an opportunity to save the world for his own stubborn pride? Besides, Genji would’ve cheered him for such an idea…

Hanzo shook uncertainty away and kept his senses on the present. He moved to Alduin’s side and out of his field of vision, away from the dragon’s head and outstretched neck.

“What… what are you doing, Dovahkiin? You… you little…”

A quick check of his conditions made Hanzo discard the hypothesis of attacking his enemy’s belly, since Alduin was crushed on the grass and the soft underside inaccessible.

But his wings were not. The left one spread for ten feet at least in front of Hanzo, the thin black leather stretched among slender fingers.

It could work.

“What are you doing? I curse you, mortal, come and face me!”

More panic in Alduin’s voice. Enough to cover Hanzo’s own dread.

He approached the wing and lifted his sword; when he let it fall, the movement came from his legs and spread to his hips, back and shoulders, the tension and release of his muscles infusing into his hit.

Under the violence of the blade, the membrane cut open, and black blood sprayed from the wound.

Alduin howled his suffering, and the skies vomited more fire. Felldir and the brothers were near, Shouting at the clouds to keep the rain of meteors far from the battlefield.

Hanzo hit his foe again, and again, and with every slash, he moved one step forward and further through Alduin’s wing.

it was horrible, even for his standards, but it was working. Alduin shrieked and cursed Hanzo’s name in Dovahzul and in the common tongue, still wrapped in the pale blue light of Dragonrend. it only started to flicker when Hanzo moved from the membrane to the long bones of Alduin’s fingers, shattering them with two, three powerful blows.

The bone gave way, breaking in two, and Hanzo spat a mouthful of blood when it sprayed right into his face. It didn’t let it stop him, even if he was starting to suffer from fatigue and tension.

He didn’t stop until the blade cracked another bone - he was drenched in blood and sweat, oblivious of any emotion different from blind determination.

“Dovahkiin! My curse on your name, you’ll pay for this! I’ll kill you and all those you love! They’ll suffer because of your actions!”

“I thought this was your initial plan no matter what”, Hanzo grunted, “so shut up!” He was so deep into destroying any chance Alduin could have of flying away once more that he barely noticed how the flesh around him was not blue and blazing anymore, but a dull, hot black.

The wing throbbed and moved all around him, and Alduin threw his head back in a roar.

“Oh, fuck”, Hanzo whispered as the wing flapped. He had to jump back to avoid being knocked off by the blow.

“Taste my vengeance, parasite! you’ll regret ever defying me!”

The snake-like neck twisted and shot toward Hanzo, while the wounded wing rose, useless but still heavy and dangerous. To avoid it, Hanzo grabbed a stubble of broken bone and used the shred of flesh as a shield.

Alduin’s jaws were getting closer, and he suddenly found himself lifted in the air, carried up by the broken wing.

His stomach jumped when his feet left the ground, and he nearly cried out his frightened surprise - but then he peeked at Alduin.

A demigod, outraged and in pain, exceptionally angry and shocked enough to let go of his hubris to destroy an immediate danger.

An animal, big and fearsome, spreading his jaws toward Hanzo.

But Hanzo didn’t let confusion best him. He held himself to the splinter of bone and let it carry him up and up in the air, because he knew what to do.

Baring his teeth, he stared into Alduin’s eyes.

_Come and catch me, come on!_

He dangled for a moment, the grass several feet under his boots, and breathed in the hot, sulfur-smelling breath of the dragon. He could look down Alduin’s throat, and when he saw the first glow of flames shine from his enemy’s chest, he threw his legs forward and jumped.

The impact against the dragon’s neck knocked all air out of his chest. Hanzo grunted in pain as the sharp scales run under his palms and body, tearing his gloves to shreds and scratching his armor. His grip turned slippery when blood - red and burning - dripped down his wrists and elbows, but he ignored the burning pain and threw his hand out to grab a black spike above Alduin’s jaw.

The dragon jumped and reared so hard, and the following jerk of his head had Hanzo hit the armored skull face first.  One of the horns hit Hanzo’s cheekbone, another his jaw, and he nearly passed out, his head buzzing and blood blurring his vision. Still, he persisted, his fingers stubbornly stuck between the scales and one of his leather vanbraces snagged on a spike - not the best situation, but it prevented Hanzo from being hurled away.

Shaking his head, nauseated and weak, Hanzo held on to what he was fighting for. This was the world’s last chance to survive, and such a chance lay on his blade’s edge, now black and red from the blood of the two opponents.

His shoulder moaned in pain as his whole weight pulled him to the ground.

He was trying to ride a creature that hated him more than anything else in the whole universe, more than his wrongly trusted general or his redeemed brother. Alduin shook himself like a colossal hound, and Hanzo growled in frustration - from this position, he could do little harm.

“Face me, you coward! You still owe me an eye, remember?”

Hakon’s voice, rumbling and furious, rose above the chaos. Alduin stopped squirming for a second and graced the hero with a contemtuous look and nothing more - it had to be enough.

Hanzo gritted his teeth, aware this was the only diversion he could’ve counted on, and tapped into the remains of his strength. He pushed his legs back to gain momentum and then pulled them up to his chest, contracting every muscle in his torso. His boots slipped twice, and each time he cursed louder, fear taking overh im, but he eventually managed to ease the tension in his shoulder and steadily grab the dragon’s scales.

Alduin burned, and Hanzo bit off a scream when his bleeding palms sizzled around the scales.

_Almost there, you’re almost there, and you’re going to die a glorious, victorious death._

On the ground, Hakon was keeping Alduin’s head busy, jumping and backing away and even managing to slice his jaw with a thriumphant scream; behind him, Gormlaith and Felldir were keeping the meteors at bay, but their Voices wer losing energy with every minute, and the storm approached.

Time was over.

Hanzo bit his lower lip until he tasted copper on the tip of his tongue and crawled on the dragon’s neck. His legs, too, burned, and he could feel blisters form on his flayed hands - had he hesitated even for one minute, he would’ve lost his grip.

Panting, sweating, he moved forward until he was stuck between the two biggest horns crowning Alduin’s head. Leather and flesh smoked, and he wished he could’ spare a thought to his lost loved ones, but as of now, all he felt - all he was - was this last battle.

Alduin reared and Hanzo fell forward, but in a last flash of instinct, he managed to spread his legs and ride the creature’s skull without being thrown off by yet another attack toward Hakon, still dancing in front of the dragon’s face.

Hanzo trembled and almost lost his sword; he leaned against it, the tip rising sparks where it scratched the armored surface in front of him

No weak spots here, and Hanzo blinked back tears. Victory was so close and yet so unattainable, and the reflection he saw in Alduin’s immense red eyes was not that of a hero, but a finished man who’d ventured too far and now…

His own face, shiny with blood and sweat, stared at him from Alduin’s eye, and a pair of vertical lids blinked closed for a second.

_Yes._

Shaking, whimpering, Hanzo forced himself to his feet again. Had he fallen, he would’ve been dead before he could’ve reached the ground.

He perched himself on the sword and crawled on some more, until he was standing rught above Alduin’s eye, his feet tuck among the scorching scales. Smell of sulfur, of burning skin and hair, of blood and death, filled his lungs and veiled his brain.

Alduin’s eye rolled to stare at him and the pupil blew to a big, black hollow.

And in that void, there was all Hanzo’d ever been, lost and lonely and desperate for hope.

His whole past unfurled in front of him.

_Save them. Save them all._

Genji’s blade reflected the light of the flames all around him when Hanzo lifted it.

“No!”

And no matter how much the dragon shook his massive body or arched his back, no matter if he managed to throw Hakon back with a violent lash of his tail: Hanzo went for his prey once and for all.

More sparks exploded from the blade when it slipped on Alduin’s eyebrow, but the second strike found its mark. Steel, slender and lethal, sunk with ease in the glimmering globe of Alduin’s eye.

The dragon screamed, and Hanzo joined his protest, putting his full weight on the sword and immersing it into the disgusting jelly swelling from the clenched black lids until it clashed against something hard.

Flames dripped from Alduin’s jaws and from the clouds, white-hot and vicious.

Fire. Just fire. Like the words marking him on the Throat of the World.

_Am I worthy now, Paarthurnax? Of your trust. Of your gift. Of being called a good man._

Blind and beyond rationality, all Hanzo could produce was a beastly whine, a long growling sound that he couldnt’ recognize as his own.

From that chaos, as soon as the wise old eyes of Paarthurnax winked at him from his memory, he found his last Words. They slipped from his mouth on their own - he was but a vessel, now brimming over with power.

_Yol Toor Shul_

The sword in his hands burned brighter than the sun, and everything around him blazed in red. Fire raged from him and inside him, and he could only hold tight and pour his soul into that last act of redemption and violence.

He barely realized when eventually Alduin stopped struggling. His anger was quickly fading to a high-pitched moan - and then the lights went out, and Hanzo stopped being the avatar of powers beyond legends. He was just a dying warrior, ready to rest at the end of a very long day of battles.

Forever.

He let out a sigh of relief, his vision sparkling with tears, and he lost his grip on the sword. Without this last handhold, he slipped from Alduin’s head and fell.

_It’s done. They’re safe, and now I can sleep._

The burned grass beneath him approached - but he never met it. Strong arms caught him before he could hit the ground, and then lifted him up again.

Hanzo groaned and blinked. The figure holding him was gold and light against a twirling darkness, and when he managed to shake his dizziness away, he realized it was Gormlaith carrying him in her arms, far from the agonising shape of Alduin.

“Look!” Hakon cried out, pointing at the dragon with his sword. Hanzo gently tried to untangle himself from Gormlaith grip, but she was too strong and definitely too determined to move him to a safer spot to pay him much attention.

“Put me down!” he protested, and to his supreme surprise, his voice was as stern and steady as always.

“As you wish”, the warrior said, dropping him with zero courtesy and a wide grin. Hanzo hit his ass on the grass and grunted - and then fell silent the moment he placed his hands on the ground to pull himself up.

The grass was not burned as he’d expected. Still sitting among a profusion of flowers, Hanzo looked up to the dying dragon, surrounded by the three heroes.

Alduin stood motionless, his wings spread open and his long neck arched in an elegant angle. The unexpected beauty of such a death tore Hanzo’s heart to pieces: he felt no guilt and Alduin was not a victim, but he’d destroyed a unique being of immense power, and it made him humble.

The massive body cracked, and with a deep humming, eerie and sweet enough to make Hanzo’s hair tingle on his neck, a bright golden light seeped through the cracks. Alduin died without one last word, and his remains faded into a black mist that rose and twirled like smoke from his wounds.

And then there was silence. For a moment, not a sound perturbed the peace of Sovngarde - and only the wind dared to interrupt such a quiet.

It blew gently, wiping away what was left of Alduin’s darkness, of his soul snare, of the storm in the sky. Clean and crisp, it dispersed the clouds until the light of dawn shone on the green fields of Sovngarde.

Gormlaith picked Hanzo up again, and this time he didn’t protest; his legs were still weak, and he gladly accepted to lean against her shoulder for support.

Alduin vanished in the glorious sunrise, leaving no trace of his presence - not a skeleton to testify that the World Eater had really existed and had been defeated, no memorial to his cruelty. The last of his shadow faded away, and the fresh grass underneath bowed gently under the wind.

Hanzo shook his head and clenched his hand on Gormlaith’s steel covered shoulder.

“You did it”, she whispered, looking down at him. He wanted to nod and to reply, if only to make sure he still had a voice, but he was too tired. He let out a strangled noise, almost a chuckle, and sat down again in the grass.

All he needed, right now, was to close his eyes and sleep under the stars. He’d deserved this, at least, and he didn’t even care if he was dead.

He fell flat on his back and spread his arms. He flicked his ears when the flowers tickled them, and if he looked up and behind him he could see the lights from the Hall of Valor.

 _No, thanks but no thanks,_ he thought. He was fine here, with his wounds bleeding profusely and the impending end calling him.

But when he blinked, he saw what looked like a dark parade unfurling down the bridge.

“Can you stand up, Hanzo?” Felldir asked. His voice had sounded so feeble during his last Shouts, but now the power in his tone was back, even if the old man spoke gently to him.

With a displeased noise, Hanzo scrunched his nose and rubbed his eyes with his hand. Or, to be more precise, he almost did it.

“What in Oblivion…”

He winced when he looked at his palms. He’d expected, reasonably enough, to see open wounds, hideous burns and blood - he’d felt the pain and the fire scorching his flesh, and his gloves were torn to shreds indeed. But the skin between the scraps of leather was a healthy pale gray, and it didn’t hurt. Maybe it stung a little, but even that weird sensation disappeared. He frowned and slowly stared at his legs: the armor was nearly charred, but his inner thighs were more than alright, and when he flexed his knees he noticed he felt no pain whatsoever. His face, too, was perfectly fine, and even his hair and beard weren’t the burned mess he’d expected.

Felldir offered him his hand and grinned.

“Give some credit to Sovngarde’s magic”, he said, and when Hanzo accepted his help, the old man pulled him to his feet with no effort.

Hanzo looked at the serene face, with a kind smile that made his wrinkles deeper.

“It’s over. We… we won… for real?” he asked. He knew he sounded begging, and he hated himself for this, but the heroes didn’t seem to care. Hakon bowed to him, his face noble and serene.

“Yes, Dragonborn, we did it. You did it - you killed Alduin”.

Hanzo took his head in his hands to stop it from spinning. A brand new kind of panic was invading him, bright and exciting, and he didn’t know how to manage it. He turned to the Hall of Valor, and realized that his impression had been correct: the souls of Sovngarde were rallying to greet him.

Tsun opened the parade, and behind every single man, woman, kid held a torch and smiled.

"This was a mighty deed!” the huge guardian greeted him, and for a change, there was a smile on his lips. It almost made him look human. “The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere, the…”

“Dragonborn!”

A young voice interrupted Tsun’s speech, and Frigga stormed forward from the crowd. She dribbled Tsun and the heroes, and clashed against Hanzo’s chest, holding him tight.

“Thank you!” she said, laughing and jumping - and shaking Hanzo in the process. “I knew you could do it! Thank you!”

And to this, Hanzo couldn’t resist. A smile spread on his lips - a real one, relief, joy and hope now choking him. He slowly lifted his arms and hugged the girl back, laughing under his breath against her braids.

Tsun, just mildly unsettled by the insubordination, rolled his eyes and resumed his speech.

“When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting. When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back."

“He has to go back, am I right? He’s left his heart on the other side of the veil”, Frigga said, pushing Hanzo back and looking at him with shining green eyes. Her smile was brighter than the dawn. “But you’ll be back one day - even if this is no place for a dunmer, and…”

“Wait, wait”, he interrupted her. He gently slid from her embrace and stared at Tsun. “This means that, once I’m dead, I won’t share the afterlife with my loved ones?”

“Sovngarde is for the Nord and the heroes, and even if…”

“Oh, I see. Well, thank you for your offering, but I won’t spend eternity far from my people”, he said, and he kind of wanted to laugh again at Tsun’s shocked expression.

“But it’s a great honor!”

“And I’m mightly appreciative of your recognition, but if I can’t be with them, then it’s worthless. Unless there’s a way to travel among the realms? There has to be, I mean, why not?”

“There's something... but that’s not the point! You… you can’t bend the rules of the universe to your will, and even if possible, what you ask is forbidden, and…”

“Ah! So it’s feisable. And I have all eternity to convince you. It’s fine, I can be rather persuasive”.

Tsun massaged his temples and snorted from his nose.

“I can’t take my offering back, for I’m bound to honor the savior of Sovngarde, but I suspect we’ll have to enjoy the last moments of quiet before you come back and start traveling among the underworlds”, he sighed, and Frigga chuckled openly.

The old leader of the Companions, Reinhard, clapped his hands and barked out a deafening laughter.

“Oh, what a challenge you’ll be! I can’t wait to get better acquainted, my friend! And until then, know that the heroes of Sovngarde will be watching over your battles and cheer on you!”

“I won’t forget this”, Hanzo concluded, pointing at Tsun, stubborn and serious.

“That’s what I feared - but if you’re ready, Nirn awaits you once more”.

Hanzo bit the tip of his tongue to stay calm. He wasn’t only triumphant, but he now had the certainty that there was something after death indeed, and that he was going to spend it with those he loved.

This was more than a victory.

When Tsun joined him and placed his big - and curiously delicate - hand on his shoulder, Hanzo looked up and found him smirking.

“You will be back, but not yet. Go, with our blessing and gratitude”.

One last look all around to take in Felldir’s stern but satisfied expression, Hakon’s and Gormlaith’s smiles, and Frigga tears of joy, with her Imperial companion trotting to her and taking her hand.

“This is not a goodbye”, Hanzo said with a lump in his throat.

“We know”, Gormlaith said. “Live a good life, my friend”.

It was time. Hanzo looked up at Tsun and nodded.

“Send me back”.

“Until we meet again, then, Hanzo Shimada, Dovahkiin and friend of Sovngarde. May your future bring you glory - and may you not pester us too much once you join us again”.

What happened next, Hanzo couldn’t really tell. He was almost sure that whatever erupted from Tsun’s mouth was a Shout, because the power that it carried along felt familiar, but Hanzo couldn’t understand the Words.

The effect, though, was immediate and not pleasant at all. It was like waking up at once in a cold, strange place - and cold it was indeed. Hanzo gasped and fell forward, hitting the snow with his knees and shaking when his hands immediately went numb and wet.

The shock from the cold, though, helped him recollect from the confusing travel through the veil among the worlds. Everything around him was a blazing blue and white - and the mountains were singing.

He crawled on all four and then on his feet. The chant around him made him shiver more than the snow did.

He vaguely understood the words: a farewell without regrets to what Alduin had been, leader and lord and first of his kind. A last goodbye to the fallen one, and a plaudit to the most epic battle against a dov - Hanzo found himself in the chant, saluted as the warlord who’d challenged the World Eater and defeated him.

There was more, though, and to this Hanzo’s mouth dangled open.

A promise of loyalty.

he shielded his eyes from the vivid sun and squinted to make out the shapes all around him. Dozens of dragons were gathere on the rocks, their necks stretched upward, their voices rising into a weird melody that melted his bones.

"So, it is done. Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been."

Paarthurnax’s rumbling voice rose above his companion’s chanting, and Hanzo sighed with the sheer happiness of meeting a friendly face - or muzzle. The dragon’s huge head was nearer than he’d expected, and it startled him a bit.

Seeing him jump on his feet, Paarthurnax backed away slightly.

“Krosis. I didn’t mean to - mh - trouble you…”

Hanzo stumbled forward and put his hand on Paarthurnax’s neck, partly to support himself, mostly to feel the reassuring warmth of his scales.

“I’m sorry. I think I should be sorry, at least… you don’t sound happy about my victory”.

The old dragon sighed.

“Happy? No, I am not happy. Zeymahi lost ont du'ol Barmahu. Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok- the arrogance of his power. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same."

Hanzo’s hard earned success tasted like ashes, and he lowered his eyes.

“But don’t let the words of an old dov dampen your glory, my friend. Indeed, you saw more clearly than I - certainly more clearly than Alduin. I’m proud of you”, and he gently nudged Hanzo’s side with his nose. “I’m not happy Alduin’s dead, but I’m glad he’s gone - this had to be, and you fulfilled your destiny”.

“You’re not… angry, or disappointed, or…”

“No. We’re friends, and I’m just old and melancholic”. He turned to the other dragons, whose song was twirling under the blue sky. “Most of my kin won’t attack yours anymore, not now that Alduin’s influence is gone. You have won a mighty victory. Sahrot krongrah - one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time”.

“They won’t attack anymore? Are you sure?”

“Some will, enough to keep you busy once you’ll be back to your life and your love”.

Back.

A feeble chuckle escaped Hanzo’s lips. Now it was real: Whiterun was but some days away, in that very plane of existence, not just a dream or an illusion.

And that hope suddenly turned to horror. Hanzo looked down at himself and his torn armor, utterly insufficient to shield him from the cruel cold of Hight Hrothgar. Sure, the Greybeards would’ve offered him whatever he needed to make the climb in exchange for a detailed report on his actions, but reaching the temple was beyond his possibilities.

Paarthurnax read Hanzo’s concerned look and crossed his wings, chuckling. His white eyes were fixed on something behind Hanzo.

“How will I go back? I can’t…”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way”, the old dragon rumbled, amused, and a second familiar voice came from the side of the mountain.

“Well well, looks like I placed my bet on the right opponent…”

Hanzo turned sharply and couldn’t stop an exultant smile.

“Odahviing!”

The slender red dragon unrolled from the rocky spur he was coiled around and, as elegant as a snake, descended to Hanzo’s side.

“None else. You didn’t trust me again, did you? I told you I would’ve waited for the winner, and you earned such a title, so…”

“Are you coming with me?”

Odahviing shrugged and arched his eyebrows.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re strong, you’re reliable, and as of now I can see no better options, but one day…”

Paarthurnax snarled, and Odahviing backed away.

“Alright, alright. I will. And call me if you need help for a battle, a dov ally can always come in handy…”

Hanzo brightened at once.

“Are you serious? So you think I could…” and he gingerly pointed to the shining red body. He was not thrilled at the idea, but it was also his best shot, at the moment.

Odahviing laughed and nodded, puffing out a spray of sparks.

“As I told you before Skuldafn, I can understend your envy. I suppose I can carry you one last time, but only if you promise not to scream again”.

“I… I’ll try”, Hanzo replied. He tried not to let embarrassment add up to the already high pile of his emotions.

“Then make yourself comfortable, and make it quick”.

Hanzo took a deep breath and turned to place one last caress on Paarthurnax’s nose. The pale dragon blinked.

“Fare thee well, Dovahkiin”.

“No, see you soon, old friend. I would miss our weird conversations…”

“Ah, so cruel and so cunning, to leverage on a poor dov’s passion for speech!” Paarthurnax chuckled again. “You’re always welcome, and it would be my pleasure”.

“I don’t have all day, mortal”, Odavhiing snorted, and Hanzo took a step back.

He bowed in respect, and Paarthurnax did the same, massive and clumsy as he could be on the ground.

Hanzo turned around and climbed Odahviing’s neck until he was in a reasonably comfortable position.

“Hold on, Dovahkiin, and keep your mouth shut. You may have defeated Alduin, but if you throw up on my scales I’ll make you pay”.

Hanzo opened his mouth for a snarky reply, but the wind swallowed his words. In the blink of an eye, they were darting down the Trhoat of the World and above the forests of Skyrim, now completely yellow.

Still, the song of the dragons never stopped ringing in Hanzo’s ears.

 

 

Time passed in a weird fashion when riding a dragon. One moment Hanzo was shivering in the clouds around High Hrothgar, and the next Odahviing was gliding above golden fields and copper hills, over the crystal clear waters of a rumbling river.

Everything was happening too soon, and yet not soon enough - his chest was tight with expectations and a new kind of fear, that of the unknown reaction of those he’d left behind. Would the city guards attack Odahviing the moment they came in sight of Whiterun? What would become of his life, now that the task that had engulfed the last months was done?

He shivered and crouched on Odahviing’s neck; the dragon didn’t miss his sigh.

“Is everything alright up there?” he asked, and Hanzo shook his head.

“It should be”, he replied, uncertain whether to frown or to smile like a loon. The thought of seeing McCree again, to hear his laughter and his soft words, to feel his hands around his face before a kiss was overwhelming, and it distracted him.

“Good, because we’re almost there. you can’t see it yet, but Dragonsreach will be visible soon - that damned trap. I’m still not over it, you know?”

“I suspected it”.

“And we’re friends, mind you, because I decided so and because you seem like a genuinely interesting leader to follow, but don’t expect me not to react if anything…”

“Odahviing, please. I’m nervous enough already”.

“your kind is always so _nervous,_ no wonder your lives are so ridiculously short”, the dragon grumbled, flapping his wings once and making his back jump, and Hanzo with it.

Dazzled by a bright sunset, Hanzo squinted and looked at the horizon.

His heart leaped.

it was like so many times before, and yet completely different.

Dragonsreach’s spires, black against the orange and pink sky, called him home, even if now there wasn’t the rough hide of a horse under his legs, but Odahviing’s scaly and warm neck.

Yet, he was back, and his hands tingled on the scales.

He closed his eyes - not that he’d spent the whole flight enjoying the landscape - and waited.

“Maybe we should land far from the main gates. To… to avoid panic”, he suggested, ashamed of how uncertain his voice sounded.

“Stop underestimating me. Of course I’m not going to drop you in the main square, I’m not a joor”, the dragon snapped back. After a brief silence, he spoke again, and Hanzo marveled at how tense the powerful voice sounded, as if some of his concern had infected Odahviing’s tone, too. “Hold yourself tight, we’re going down”.

“Yes. Fine”, he snarled through chattering teeth. And no, once more it was not because of the cold alone. The world around him seemed unchanged, but he knew it was just an impression - and he didn’t know if he was ready to face more challenges right now.

With his eyes still closed, Odahviing’s whisper seemed to come from everywhere.

“There’s people”.

“Not unexpected”.

“Guards. A lot of them”.

“Ah. I can’t say I’m surprised”, he replied. he bit the tip of his tongue and grimaced. “Don’t hurt them, please. They will not act unless provoked”.

The repentine change in altitude made Hanzo’s internal organs do a somersault. He gasped and hugged the thick neck beneath him, opening his eyes wide in the twilight.

“Don’t”, he panted, breathless. And then he didn’t speak anymore, because he knew how close he was to throwing up.

“I think I scared to death a man with a spear”, Odahviing said in a forcibly light tone. “But I swear I didn’t mean to”.

The dragon bat his wings and gained altitude once more, something that crosed the borders of Hanzo’s discomfort and went straight to his nerves.

“Why did you do that? I thought we were close to landing!”

“I wanted them to see you. To know that I’m no threat because you’re with me”.

“That was… wise”, Hanzo said, now finding the guts to look down.

The outskirts of Whiterun were nothing less than crowded. Not just the guards, but dozens of citizens were standing by the walls with their noses in the air. Hanzo took a deep breath and tried to make out some detail in the blur of faces - and caught a glimpse of short, golden hair. The Jarl was standing in the front lines, and Irileth was with him. Together with a figure completely clad in black.

“Wise, eh? Tell me something I don’t know, Dovahkiin”, Odahviing snickered. His pace was slower now, and he drew wide, lazy circles in the crisp air. “Down we go”, he announced.

Nothing could’ve prepared Hanzo for the landing, but he still appreciated the thought.

Odahviing pulled his head back and stretched his legs in front of him, and Hanzo closed his eyes again. briefly, because when the dragon’s paws hit the ground, sending a ripple through muscles and scales, and making Hanzo wince and almost lose his grip, he couldn't but stare wide-eyed.

After a few, horribly long seconds of winding movements to adjust himself, Odahviing managed to gracefully stretch himself on the ground.

This time, Hanzo forced himself not to fall on his knees in gratitude and relief. He knew hundreds of eyes were upon him, and his pride made his dismounting slightly more appropriate than what it had been in Skuldafn.

He unstuck himself from his uncomfortable position and threw his legs over Odahviing’s neck; the dragon courteously lowered his head to help him, and Hanzo fell with acceptable grace, landing on his feet. Only when he pulled himself up, he realized how tattered his armor was, exposing large chunks of grey skin on his legs and chest.

He blushed fiercily - not out of shame for his attire, but because he really didn’t look like the hero those people were expecting to see. He tried to keep his face stern and his head high, but didn’t resist the temptation to ran his hand on Odahviing’s scales. The warm and rough texture was oddly reassuring.

The first line of peasants jumped back, rallying all together like a flock of hens and trying to back away from the dragon.

Odahviing chuckled and folded his wings down his sides.

“They don’t seem to appreciate our presence”.

“Tell me something I don’t know”, Hanzo mocked him, weak.

Luckily, he had nothing but a second of confusion before the crowd parted with a murmur. He squared his shoulders and fought back the impulse to take his sword.

No need to. The Jarl was marching in long strides toward him, with the fur of his cloak framing a square, set jaw. Irileth was at his side, her eyes wide and uncertain - they kept on jumping from Hanzo to the shadow behind Morrison.

A well known shadow, one that made Hanzo’s knees weak with relief. Gabriel Reyes looked regal and perfectly at ease, back in his role of thane. Hanzo, with what little part of his brain could notice the detail, wondered if the people surrounding them were aware of how Gabe’s hand was clenched around the Jarl’s.

Hanzo focused on Morrison’s blue eyes. it was what was expected of him, even if his whole soul begged him to search the many faces - Genji was there.

McCree too, maybe.

But he didn’t move. He stood tall and stiff, waiting.

Jarl Morrison gave his escort a curt nod, and everyone but Gabe stopped behind him. Hanzo didn’t miss the wink the Guild Master gave him, a paternal welcome and the prelude of many more to come. it warmed Hanzo’s heart, but it made him restless, too.

 _Let’s make this quick. I’ve got important people to meet,_ and he would’ve chuckled with nervousness at the thought. He clenched his fists behind his back and watched Morrison approach, almost running, pale and drawn.

The Jarl stopped some three feet from Hanzo, and his eyes were as cold as he’d expected, but also dark with anticipation.

“Hanzo Shimada, Dragonborn. You’re back”.

“Yes, my lord. I am”.

Morrison nodded once and shot Odahviing a distrustful look. or was that just concern? Still, hanzo felt he needed to intervene.

“He’s with me”, he said quickly. Odahviing snorted and rolled his eyes, but Hanzo, embarrassed as he was, continued. “He’s not dangerous. He’s an ally”.

“You - both of you - are responsible for the destruction of an artifact older than the whole city”.

Hanzo’s jaw dropped open. He turned to stare at Odahviing, baffled, and found an equivalent, if more contemtuous, look on his companion’s face.

Was that all Morrison had to say? Hanzo’s lips moved without a sound, leaving him frozen somewhere between fury and horror.

The Jarl’s face looked impassive, but for the blush now crawlingu p his neck and the quickened breaths making his chest rise and fall under his garments. Gabe placed a hand on the small of his back and looked down. Laughing in silence?

The mask crumbled at once. The blue eyes lost their icy expression and became tired and desperate, as was the broken voice, so low Hanzo barely heard it.

“I beg you, tell me it was worth it. Tell me you…”

Hanzo swallowed back a sigh and tried not to sway. He lowered his face, and his voice was but a whisper.

“Alduin is defeated. I did it, and…”

The rest of his words got lost, swallowed by the thick fur of Morrison’s cloak and his frenzied embrace.

And this gesture broke the tension of his people.

Every man, woman, child, every warrior and blacksmith and farmer of Whiterun burst into cheering, clapping their hands, calling Hanzo’s name like that of the hero who had saved them all.

So different from the dragon’s mournful chant, not less impressive.

Hanzo stood still, unsure of what to do with his hands and moaning when Morrison’s strong arms made his back creak.

“You did it. You saved us, you saved us all”, the Jarm murmured. He let go of Hanzo so quickly he almost fell, stumbling back against Odahviing.

Morrison was smiling now, even if his eyes glimmered with tears; he didn’t refuse Gabe’s arm, and their hands were a tangle of dark and freckled skin. They didn’t seem to care about Irileth’s blush.

Hanzo shivered and ran his hand over his face.

It was done. It was going to be alright.

Right when he was about to let go of any constraint, leaving room for emotions and tears, Morrison spoke again.

“There’s nothing I can do to repay you, Hanzo. Nothing. But please, just ask. Anything it is in my power to give you, ask and you shall be given”.

His voice was trembling, but he was smiling, too. An incredulous, hopeful smile.

Hanzo couldn’t but smile back.

Somewhere among the people of Whiterun, Farengar stood out, tall and dark. When Odahviing shot him a killer look, the mage sqeaked and disappeared behind a guard.

 _What do I want?_ Hanzo asked to himself.

He didn’t know. He hadn’t expected a reward for his actions, and he was surprised enough already to have made it out with his own life.

He knew he had to say something - anything, because of course the Jarl would’ve felt insulted by his hesitation.

The answer came from the crowd. A series of outraged grunts and perplexed exclamations caught everyone’s attention, and even Hanzo peeked from behind Morrison to see the first row of people dispersing grumpily when something burst out from behind them.

“Sorry - no, not even sorry, let me pass - family of the hero, same blood, he almost killed me once, make room, thank you - like that, sorry ma’am, I’m way smoother usually - here, I’m…”

“Genji!”

Hanzo forgot he was standing between a dragon and a noble and laughed out loud. He ran straight toward his brother, hitting Morrison’s shoulder and barely apologizing.

Genji gently moved an old lady to the side, picking her up and delicately placing her back on the ground - and making her giggle out loud - a couple of steps to his left, and looked up.

His red eyes crinkled with happiness, his hair was a spiky mess that made him look like an overexcited porcupine, but he joined Hanzo in a sprint.

And Hanzo didn’t even resent how his brother knocked all air out of his chest with his brutal embrace, or how he lifted him up and bounced him a couple of times.

He only laughed, and maybe cried a little, until Genji took a step back and punched his shoulder.

“I prayed for you, but you didn’t need it”, he said, his voice quivering a bit.

“I did. And I needed this”, Hanzo replied, fumbling with the sheath of the sword at his side.

“You killed Alduin with that?”

“Indeed, and since I borrowed it, now I’m…”

They both turned around when chaos spread through the lines. Hanzo frowned when he noticed Irileth was not by the Jarl’s side anymore, and then caught his breath when he saw why.

“This is your last warning, thief!” she cried out, more exhausted than anything.

“If yer not gonna let me go, then let him come here!”

Four guards were restraining McCree, flushed red and all ruffled.

“Why would I…

“You know why, c’mon! Please, Irileth! See? I said ‘please’, you can’t… you…”

He kicked and tried to wrestle himself free, but to no avail.

Hanzo swallowed hard. How could he ask the Jarl to let go of that old quarrel right now, when he could barely find the words to tell his own brother he was happy to see him again?

But Morrison was a smart man. And no doubt, some of what Gabe was whispering to his ear was helping him out.

“Irileth, let him go”, the Jarl said out loud, a grin playing upon his lips. “I think I know what he’s about to do, and it has nothing to do with rummaging through my underwear. Can’t guarantee for the Dragonborn’s, though…”

“Seriously?” the housecarl asked, and she, too, was trying to hide a grin. Morrison nodded, and as soon as the guards let go of McCree, Hanzo was his.

All his, and to hell with the crowd still exulting around them, or the dragon grumbling and sitting back on his haunches.

McCree knocked one of the guards to the ground with a push and ran through the field.

For Hanzo, it was like spreaading his wings and flying for the first time. He laughed with all of his heart and welcomed the tears running down his cheeks, he welcomed Gabe’s tender look and Jack’s grin, and even more Genji’s chuckling sobs.

But when McCree caught him in his arms, he stopped feeling anything but the heart beating with his own.

“Yer back”, was all McCree could say, voice harsh and broken, before Hanzo grabbed the front of his Nightingale armor and pulled him in for a frenzied kiss.

To this, the crowd cheered even louder than before. It was just a buzz in the back of Hanzo’s mind, where everything else was full of McCree’s tongue and lips, of his hand cupping his face, of his body solid and real.

They kissed like nobody was looking until they had to part for air, and then some more, because this, just _this_ was the only reward Hanzo needed.

His love. His life.

“Yer back”, McCree whispered again, their foreheads touching.

“Have you forgot my words? ‘See you later’. I can keep my promises, too…” he breathed out. Joy was tearing his heart apart, and nothing in his whole life compared to how he was feeling now. Complete. Not broken anymore.

McCree smiled and wiped a tear from Hanzo’s cheekbone.

“I love you. Those were the words that kept me goin’ while you were away”.

“But now I’m here. I won’t leave”, and he encircled McCree’s waist with his arms, burying his face in his chest.

After a while, and after many rounds of applause and whistles - Genji was the director of such a peculiar chorus - someone divided them.

Hanzo would’ve snapped, but it was Gabe, a sweet smile on his lips as he ruffled both their hair.

“Get a room you two…”

“Look who’s talkin’!” McCree was laughing now, even if his beard sparkled with tears and his nose was very red.

Genji joined the pile and embraced them both, knocking their heads together.

“Hey, brother, the Jarl’s still waiting for your word - what do you want? I’d suggest gold and jewels, but I must admit betting on your success made me rich enough for a lifetime or two…”

“You did _what?_ I thought you trusted me!”

“I do, that’s why I placed a ridiculous amount of coin on your return!”

Hanzo, still mildly shocked from the discovery, frowned and looked away from Genji - only to find Morrison staring at him with a smirk.

“Your brother’s right. Ask away, it’s your day, Dragonborn…”

Behind the Jarl, Odahviing was stretching like a huge red cat, but when his eyes met Hanzo’s there was a hint of sincere friendship in those purple depths.

Hanzo knew what to do.

“Most of the dragons won’t attack our cities anymore, and I’ll be ready to fight those who will pose a threat to this land’s security. But as I said, Odahviing is not among them. He’s a friend, and under my…”

“Dovahkiin, you’re very cute, but I don’t need your protection”, the dragon called from the rearlines, and a nervous laughter spread among the people. A couple of particularly brave children was already approaching the beast, despite the hysterical rebutts of their mothers.

The Jarl shrugged.

“I suppose we’ll have to trust you on this. It’s not even the weirdest of your requests, after all - but I insist, how can we honor your deeds?”

Hanzo blinked. The sky was a bright red now, and the first stars were sparkling in the East.

That way, beyond mountains and woods, through bandits and wolves and maybe more dragons, was a place - dark, damp and sketchy.

There, he’d learned of forgiveness and second chances. He’d found friends, allies. Family. Love.

He took McCree’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“I want to go home, my lord. This is all I ask”.

Morrison snorted a brief laughter from his nose.

“Why am I not surprised? Few people deserve this more than you. Still, you can’t escape this”.

And of all the things Hanzo could’ve expected, of everything that could’ve happened, the gesture caught him completely off guard.

Jarl Morrison bent his head with a solemn smile, and at his side, Gabe did the same, his fist clenched on his chest.

One by one, they all bent their knees to him.

Irileth was probably too shocked to react quickly, but she fell on her knees with a clash of metal and her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Farengar, the guards - everyone bowed to Hanzo.

“Do you think we should do that too or - “

“Genji, do it and I’ll slap you”, Hanzo hissed through his teeth.

“Broody”.

With McCree’s arms still around him, Hanzo watched Whiterun pay him its regards.

Odahviing slithered closer, and Hanzo held McCree to his side when the Nightingale winced at the size of the dragon.

“it looks like everyone’s happy, aren’t they, little Hanzo?” the dragon whispered out loud, perfectly audible.

Hanzo knew he needed to say something, to do something, but his mouth was stuck in a shocked smile.

They were bowing to him. An orphan, an assassin, a stray dog who’d succeeded only out of stubbornness and thanks to the help of a bunch of thieves.

His heart was growing too big for his chest, and it ached in the sweetest way.

“It looks like they are indeed”, he whispered back.

He was going home. When he looked at McCree and Genji, close and smiling, he realized he was at home already.

Night crawled through the sky, and he took a deep breath.

Whiterun was alive with thousands of candles under the stars. Skyrim was safe.

And maybe - just maybe - he’d earned his forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this, right here, should've been the last chapter. The hero returns, the foe is vanquished, Irileth is a Reaper76 shipper and everyone is happy.
> 
> Everyone but the author, here. I couldn't let go yet, so stay tuned for a little extra - a very self-indulgent one.
> 
> Frigga is a small addition of mine; in Sovngarde we do get to meet a dead Stormcloak soldier, but he's so nondescript and generic I never really minded him. I needed someone I, as the author, cared about, and this young brave girl served her purpose.  
> Reinhard is just too pure not to be in Sovngarde and I wanted his smile to brighten the Hall.  
> (I'd like to add that Gormlaith could pick me up and carry me around any time and I'd thank her)
> 
> You all made me so, SO happy during this trip in Skyrim. Thank you, again!


	19. Epilogue

Saving Skyrim had its pro and cons.  
  
The latter involved an increased popularity for the Dragonborn, something that reflected on McCree, too. This meant it was nearly impossible to cross the borders of this hold or that without a dozen guards coming to shake Hanzo’s hand - and neither he or McCree particularly appreciated the change. Both had a lifetime of crime to deal with, and uniforms still made them uncomfortable.  
  
Another unpleasant side effect of removing the threat of dragons from Skyrim was that now every other existing quarrel was back with enhanced virulence.

The civil war still plagued the land, and even if Hanzo was determined not to get involved (except for sticking half a dozen of arrows in Ulfric’s ass, if given a chance), his opinion was highly valued by Jarls and generals alike. Well, not so much by the Stormcloaks, but most of them had the decency to bit their tongues and ignore the race of the hero glaring at them from the other side of a table.  
  
But there were pros, too, and too many to be counted.  
  
First thing first, Hanzo’s new status, and more importantly McCree’s contribution to his success, had granted them both a place to live. An actual home - no, a mansion, formerly belonging to a late, disgraced member of the Guild. It looked on the market square and had a ridiculous series of tunnels and secret passages that made it rather clear how it was designed by and for a thief.

McCree adored it: it allowed him both to wake up at Hanzo’s side and stay far from prying eyes (with Genji’s exception: he had developed a habit of visiting his brother at uncanny hours, and no lock could hold him outside. McCree had resigned himself to beg him to knock before getting him at least) and to see to his Nightingale duties without renouncing to anything.  
  
Living together was… unexpected. Not that McCree hadn’t considered it, or fondly dreamed of it since that first kiss, or even held on to the hope of a future together when everything had seemed lost, but they hadn’t even discussed it.  
  
One day, when Riften was buried under a thick layer of snow, and an unrelenting storm howled above the roofs, Gabe had called them to visit the house - McCree missed his boss when he was away, something that happened more often in these last months, but was happy for him, since he knew very well where he was spending his nights, and their business thrived from his renewed relationships with Whiterun and its Jarl.

And then, with great ceremony, Gabe had given them a key.  
  
Hanzo had blinked in astonishment, standing in a dark, dusty hallway with McCree at his side, the keys in his hand.  
  
A slam, and Gabe was gone, giggling in the distance.

It had been weird.  
  
“So... “ McCree had said after a long, awkward silence. “If… if you don’t feel comfortable I could still live with the Guild, ‘t would be just nice to have a place to share every now and then if you…”  
  
“Are you serious?” Hanzo had glared at him, flushed dark and with his eyes narrowed to crimson slits. Still, his lips had trembled with barely controlled hilarity.  
Ruffling his hair, McCree had shrugged, biting his lip not to grin from ear to ear.  
  
“Sure, ‘tis a big place. Very cold in the winter. Maybe you could use some company at night…”  
  
“Jesse McCree”, Hanzo had snapped, turning around and wiggling the long dark key under McCree’s nose, “you’re not a bed warmer. You can play the part exceptionally well, but you’re my partner, and… if you want to, we could…”  
  
His words had died in a slurred mumble of embarrassment. But McCree’s understanding of his man’s feelings had always gone beyond something as trivial as words.  
  
They had a place they could call their own. They had each other, and even after months, McCree woke up every day blessing the divines for the gifts he’d received - a warm body curled around his own in the morning, the first flutter of sleepy eyes, a smile that made the sun pale in comparison.  
  
With every day, during their months living together, the realization of how his love for Hanzo kept on growing became a certainty.  
  
_My love. My partner. My future._  
  
And this was the good side of living with a legend. It made those weeks when Hanzo had to travel across the land more bearable: wherever he was, at McCree’s side was where he would end up to be eventually.  
  
Such eventually had happened less than three hours before. Hanzo’s bags were still abandoned by the bedroom’s door, his caked boots and dripping wet cloak near a chair, and their rightful owner stretched blissfully, looking down at McCree with a grin.  
  
“You missed me indeed…” he said, shifting on the bed to place a kiss, the last in a very long series, on McCree’s lips.  
  
“You leave me alone for half a moon, come back lookin’ all pretty and needy, and you even expect me to keep my hands on myself?” McCree sunk his fingers in Hanzo’s hair and turned that gentle brush of their lips into a proper, deep kiss. He was sore from their last round, and Hanzo from the first two, most likely, but he’d craved for the touch of that tongue and the warmth of that smooth skin for too long to resist the temptation.  
  
Hanzo moaned against his mouth and gently arched his back - and in doing so, his languid look twisted into a small grimace.  
  
McCree chuckled and ran his fingertips down Hanzo’s spine.  
  
“Love ya, darlin’”, he whispered to Hanzo’s ear, playfully biting his earlobe. “But we have time. I wanted to make sure you were real first, but now… the thought of simply sleepin’ with you is takin’ over”.  
  
“Mhm”, Hanzo grunted all happy and soft. He cocked an eyebrow and sat up. “Too many hours on horseback are taking their tolls on me, and I haven’t been sleeping in a proper bed for six days… I’ll happily join you in a moment. Let me get rid of some of the dust from the journey”.  
  
McCree slid his arm under the pillow and let Hanzo leave the bed.  
  
“D’you need a hand to scrub yer back, honey?” He winked, and Hanzo smiled and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Five minutes and I’m all yours. Again”. He threw his tangled hair back and let the blanket slip from his hips, dropping it on the chair by the door.  
  
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere”. With a sigh, McCree enjoyed one last glimpse of a very naked, not exactly clean Hanzo stumble out of the room, then sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.  
  
Outside, the skies crackled with electricity, and soon after rain and hail started to rumble against the roof and windows.  
  
It was night, it was quiet despite the chaos outside, and in minutes Hanzo was going to join him for the most intimate act ever - closing their eyes and resting, sure of their own safety and trust. McCree could very well call himself happy.  
  
After a while, with his mind drifting away in pleasant fantasies of their future days and new adventures (Hanzo was not an official member of the Guild, but they worked together fairly often), McCree shivered. The thunderstorm outside had made the room chilly for such a warm summer night, and he was wearing nothing but the remains of his sweat after three hours of love.  
  
With a sigh, he stretched his legs and wiggled his toes in the suddenly cold air.  
  
He rolled to the side and got up, tiptoeing to the door. He peeked to see whether Hanzo was in sight - missing a chance to admire him? No way - in vain, then he snatched the blanket from the chair and pulled it closer.  
  
In doing so, the thick fabric caught into the backrest, and the chair tilted to the side. McCree quickly saved the day and reached out to stop the crash, but this meant kicking Hanzo’s bags in the process. A mess of assorted trinkets rolled on the wooden floor.  
  
Still naked, McCree mumbled a curse and threw the blanket around his shoulders. Crouched on the floor, with the company of the sound of rain and of the water Hanzo was rinsing himself with, he sighed and rallied the content of the bags together. A pair of socks neatly folded into a ball, a small bag of coins and two more pieces of gold, a nice shiny pebble - McCree tucked everything inside the bag, smiling to himself at all those little signs of Hanzo’s life, and then…  
  
He didn’t pay it much attention at first. The cold of a thin metal chain against his fingers could've been nothing, but it somehow sounded off.  
  
Hanzo was not one for jewels. He barely wore some old earrings, and even if McCree was starting to consider - a dream inside a dream - to put a proper ring on his finger, he wasn’t interested in shiny things.  
  
On the other hand, McCree was. A curious, appreciative expert on precious metals and gems. So either Hanzo had found an interesting piece on his trip and he was going to ask McCree for his professional opinion, or it was a surprise gift for him.  
  
He couldn’t resist and pulled the chain out.  
  
The first thing he noticed was that whatever the pendant’s worth, it was heavy. The chain sparkled golden against McCree’s palm, and when he pulled the jewel out of the bag he grinned in anticipation.  
  
A grin that froze on his lips the moment he held the locket to the light.  
  
It didn’t take a professional to recognize it. Everyone knew what an amulet of Mara looked like - a golden disk with a pale blue stone, and other smaller pendants scattered down the chain.  
  
Everyone knew what an amulet of Mara looked like - and what it meant.  
  
A promise. A bond. it was not an ornament one bought or carried light-heartedly or without a reason.  
  
McCree sat on the floor with the blanket in his lap and the amulet in his hand. He blinked at it, his mouth open and his skin flushed.  
  
It had been little more than hope and dreams, his project of asking Hanzo to - well, to make things official. Even if they’d know each other for less than one year and a half, saving the world together and nearly dying a dozen of times in the process had made it clear that, if anything like a soulmate existed, McCree had found his own.  
  
But this - this heavy, rough thing dangling from his fingers - meant that Hanzo, too, was having the same thoughts.  
  
Or so it seemed.  
  
With blood thumping in his ears and a trembling smile looking for a way to his lips, McCree stared at the amulet.  
  
Suspended in time, his heart jumped and bounced in his chest.  
  
And then the floor beams behind him creaked.  
  
“It took me a while, I know, but I couldn’t bear all that grime any longer, and…”  
  
Hanzo, with a white towel wrapped around his hips and his dripping wet hair rolled on his shoulder, stopped at the door and looked down at McCree.  
  
McCree promptly realized that he was sitting naked on the floor in what looked a lot like the guilty demeanor of someone caught nosing around his significant other’s belongings.  
  
“It’s… not how it seems”, he promptly said, standing up without letting go of the amulet. “I wanted to… get this”, and he toed at the blanket. “I got clumsy, spilled yer stuff, and f-found this…”  
  
Hanzo’s eyes blew wide and his grey skin darkened instantly.  
  
“Ah. You… found it”.  
  
“‘N I swear, pumpkin, I didn’t mean to check on your bags, I was just tryina put everything back all nice, but…” He chuckled and absent-mindedly summoned his left hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his neck. “Curious. An amulet of Mara”.  
  
“Yes I - er - found it?” Hanzo fumbled with his towel; it was dangerously slipping down his sides. “It’s not like it… has to mean anything. Special. Or anything at all, it’s just an amulet. And I found it. And here it is”.  
  
_Yeah, just an amulet. And just the kind lovers exchange as a token of marriage._  
  
The rain was slowing down, and now the house was quiet.  
  
McCree forced a nervous laughter out of his throat.  
  
“Sure, yeah, it’s just a shiny pretty thing. It’s not like we’re… gettin’ married or anything”, he stuttered, unable to look at Hanzo.  
  
“You thought I… I was proposing?”  
  
“No! No, of course not, it would be preposterous, wouldn’t it? Ehe. Folks like us tyin’... the knot in a very traditional way? Nope, it’s not…”  
  
“Ah. Alright, it’s… alright. I’ve got to - uh”. Hanzo was beyond flustered, and his rich voice, too, sounded a bit squeaky. He pointed with his thumb at the big closet. “Clothes. I need… clothes, I think”.  
  
He quickly walked past McCree, stiff and apparently shocked, and grabbed the two handles.  
  
McCree couldn’t move. The air around them was thick with doubts and expectations, and thinking straight was an impossible task at the moment.  
  
The amulet was heavy in his hand.  
  
_Speak, you fool! Tell him now!  
_  
But this time, his tongue wasn’t as silver as it used to be.  
  
The doors of the closet slammed shut, and the noise startled McCree. He looked up to find himself presented with a still half naked and very nervous dunmer.  
  
Hanzo’s red eyes were as hard and intense as they’d ever been. Gems of blood among the ashes.  
  
“What if I was?”  
  
“What if… what?”  
  
“Proposing. What if the… amulet is exactly what we both think it is? Just a hypothesis, mind you”.  
  
McCree’s knees melted. He didn’t realize he was moving, but his bare feet carried him closer to Hanzo.  
  
“So you are. Doin’ it”.  
  
“Answer me! What would… you say?”  
  
“Oh! Er… well, let’s say, and we’re conjecturin’ here, nothing more. Let’s say you did bring back an amulet of Mara because of these reasons - I… I think I would…” He took another step forward. The amulet sparkled between them, and his ethereal hand took Hanzo’s. It was happening, it was not a dream - a folly, maybe, but one of those that made life worth living. “I’d say yeah”.  
  
Hanzo’s fingers twitched in his palm. A dark blush crawled up his throat and cheeks, and he loudly held his breath. He stared at McCree - first deep into his eyes, then down to his mouth, like he always did before a kiss. This time, though, he didn’t move for a very long time.  
  
“I… see”, he eventually whispered. The damp towel was slipping down his sides and he did nothing to stop it. With a long shiver, he shook his head and forced a trembling smile upon his lips. “Good to know. Not that - I meant anything with this, you know? It would be untimely, and we didn’t discuss this beforehand, so no pressure, just…”  
  
McCree tightened his grip on Hanzo’s hand. He could barely breathe, both out of a maddening need to laugh and because of the knot of emotion choking him, so he just waited and cleared his throat a couple of times.  
  
He couldn’t look away. They’d made history already, but this, right now, was the moment they were going to make their own history.  
  
“Hanzo, I want to marry you”, he blurted out. His skin felt too hot and sensitive, and the magic in his left hand sizzled with the tide of his blood. He pulled Hanzo closer - still gaping and shocked - and leaned their foreheads together. “True, we never talked about it but… I love you. And I want to be with you ‘til the day the Divines take us”.  
  
“... and beyond that”, Hanzo concluded for him, leaving the sybilline words hanging in the air. He blinked, and his red eyes crinkled with a sincere smile. “Are we serious?”  
  
“Dunno, I can only say I am”.  
  
Hanzo took a deep breath and bit his lower lip.  
  
“Then marry me, Jesse McCree, and grant me the honor to call you my husband. From…”  
  
McCree shut his mouth with a kiss. He circled Hanzo’s waist with his arms and pulled him up against him, the towel sliding slowly between them. Hanzo sunk his hands in his hair and tilted his head deepen the kiss, all tongue and soft moans.  
  
Hanzo’s skin was cold from the bath, but it warmed instantly against McCree’s body. Had they indulged in this kind of interactions just a second more, they’d have ended up for a fourth round - and McCree had nothing to say against the possibility, but Hanzo had something else in mind.  
  
He pulled McCree’s hair and made him cock his head backward, panting against his lips.  
  
“Now. Marry me now”, he hissed, drawing his tongue across McCree’s mouth.  
  
“I feel rather underdressed for the occasion”, he chuckled. His hands slipped down the small of Hanzo’s back to grab his ass and pull him even closer.  
  
“Put some pants on and let’s go”, Hanzo added with a very explicit and telling roll of his hips, “because next time I’m going to fuck my husband”.  
  
McCree’s blood was throbbing in his whole body, and his heart ached with love and desire. He kissed Hanzo again, pulling back before lust could take the lead and playfully pushed him aside.  
  
“Last chance to change yer mind, sugarplum. I’m gonna put some pants on, and after that…”  
  
Hanzo kissed his knuckles and laughed out loud, his eyes sparkling.  
  
“... after that, we’ll run under the rain and knock on the doors to Mara’s temple. I’m pretty sure our donation will make the priests forgive us for the ungodly hour of our visit”.  
And they did it. Hastily dressed in his everyday pants and a shirt half open down his chest - no time to waste with something as trivial as lacing it up - McCree clasped the Amulet of Mara around Hanzo’s neck, and they ran down the stairs hand in hand.

The skies poured buckets of ice and water over their heads, and Riften slept in the dead of night under a canopy of black clouds lined in blue and white lights, while thunders shook the pillars of the city; they ignored this all. Splashing in every puddle like two kids, laughing and hushing each other in too loud whispers, they devoured the streets and reached the temple in a minute.  
  
Hanzo stopped McCree before he could open the doors.  
  
“Wait! What do we tell the priests? I don't think this is the standard procedure...”  
  
“That we need to get married now. Just… let me do the talkin’, alright, babe?”  
  
“We’re doing it for real. I can’t believe it”, Hanzo muttered with a large grin, and McCree kissed the tip of his nose.  
  
“C’mon!”  
  
Predictably enough, when he opened the door the Temple of Mara was empty. Not dark, with clusters of candles burning under the wooden vaults and painting the polished benches in gold and copper; the statue of Mara by the altar should've looked welcoming and loving, but her open arms and her eyes staring at the ceiling gave McCree an almost comical impression of exasperation.  
  
_Sorry_ , _my lady, I'll ask for an appointment next time…_  
  
Hanzo squeezed the excess of water off his ponytail and took a tentative step among the benches. There were flowers in every vase and plate all around the temple, and their sweet scent mixed with that of petrichor from the storm.  
  
“Everyone’s asleep”, he whispered, sliding his hand in McCree’s.  
  
“I feel kinda sorry to disturb them”, McCree said softly, but it was a lie. Waking up a couple of old priests was well worth the outcome. He swiftly kissed Hanzo’s temple and ventured forth, making the wooden beams creak under his feet.  
  
No need to stealth right now, but he still winced at the noise.  
  
“Do you think we should call or…”  
  
Hanzo shrugged and looked up at McCree.  
  
He’d never seen him so happy. He didn’t even need to smile, everything in his body radiated joy and light, and he looked younger and innocent as never before. McCree lost the grip on his own thoughts and just looked at Hanzo for a while.  
  
Dying from an excess of love? Unlikely, but he couldn’t think of a better way to go.  
  
“Jesse?”  
  
“I… love you. Have I ever told ya how much I love you?”  
  
“I think you did, yes. But we’re trying to get married here, remember?”  
  
McCree chuckled, but his voice rose to a high pitched gasp when a door slammed somewhere to their left.  
  
Despite the momentary alarm, he couldn’t but feel relieved. Someone was coming, a priest ready to make them husband and husband, and he couldn’t wait.  
  
He closed his eyes and quickly collected his speechcraft to prepare an appropriate mixture of apologies and requests, heartfelt enough to move even the sternest of priests, but Hanzo’s loud exclamation startled him.  
  
“What in Oblivion are you doing here?”  
  
“ _Hanzo?_ ”  
  
McCree blinked and saw Genji come forth from the darkness, his hair all tousled and his hands fumbling with his pants. His shirt was nowhere in sight, and there was a constellation of dark marks - bites and hickeys and scratches - all over his chest.  
  
Genji clumsily pulled his pants up, and McCree’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead.  
  
“Well, good evening to you”, he giggled, and Genji shot him a very dirty, Hanzo-esque look.  
  
“What are you two doing here?”  
  
“I asked it first so don’t you try to weasel!” Hanzo stepped in front of McCree and marched toward his brother, dripping wet and outraged. “I can’t believe you sneaked into the temple to… to…”  
  
His rant was interrupted by the arrival of a second figure, slender and very red. Zenyatta’s robes were all askew, his cowl flopped on his shoulder and his belt loose. The young priest smiled a bit apologetically, and Hanzo gasped.  
  
“... to do stuff with a priest!”  
  
“Hey, now, now…” Genji frowned and stood in front of Zenyatta. Still half naked as he was, he looked ready to defend his man, and McCree felt a surge of tenderness for the couple. “We weren’t doing anything wrong, and it was raining, so…”  
  
“But in the temple!”  
  
"Better than under the rain!"

"But..."  
  
“My friends, I think…”  
  
“Give me a minute, love, I’m going to settle this thing with my jackass brother then I’m all yours”, Genji said to Zenyatta, suddenly sweeter. Not so much when he looked back at Hanzo. “Are you here to lecture me?”  
  
“I wish I didn’t have to, but you seem to lack the basic human decency not to... “ He vaguely gestured at Genji’s disheveled look and Zenyatta’s flushed yet smiling face. “I’m sorry, he should know better…”  
  
“Oh, he knows well enough”, Zenyatta said, flashing Genji a quick, explicit smirk, his teeth white between his dark lips.  
  
Genji stuttered and forgot his reprimand. McCree, still busy trying not to laugh, winked at him.  
  
“Got it bad, dude. Real bad”.  
  
“Whatever!” Genji snapped, throwing his hands in the hair. “Before you two wake the whole temple, care to elaborate what the hell do you want at this ridiculous hour?”  
  
Hanzo’s mouth clicked shut and he looked at McCree in a silent plea for help.  
  
“Ah. Er… well, I think it’s not gonna be a secret any longer, so…” McCree ruffled his hair and took Hanzo’s hand. Zenyatta quietly smoothed his robes and set his hood straight. Young as he was, he could be exactly what they needed, so no more wasting time. “Could you marry us?”  
  
“You… are getting… oh!” Zenyatta’s smile went from sweet from surprised to delighted. He clasped his long hands to his chest and nodded. “It would be an honor! I’m so happy for…”  
  
“No fucking way!” Genji pulled at his own hair, his eyes round as pebbles. “You must be kidding. You can’t be serious!”  
  
“We’re very serious, thank you for your enthusiastic reaction”, Hanzo snarled. Something in the air was souring very quickly.  
  
"Pardon me if I'm a bit shocked, but you never mentioned it, and I... is that an amulet of... well, shit!" and he looked away, a trembling smirk on his lips.

"I can't see why you should object", Hanzo said, his voice dropping an octave, stern and rumbling. "But if there's anything you need to tell me..."

Genji didn't let him finish. With a suspicious glimmer in his eyes and a cracking note in his voice, he reached forward and took Hanzo’s and McCree’s hands, still conjoined.

“We’re going to be a family! An actual family! Come here, you two”, and he took them both in his signature overjoyed embrace, knocking their heads together.  
  
“Ouch! Again - Genji, you’re choking me!”  
  
McCree laughed but quickly pulled back.  
  
“So yer givin’ us yer blessing, right?”  
  
“Did you ever doubt it? But… you can’t get married like this! there’s no one, you deserve a party, and…”  
  
The main door opened again, and the four of them turned to note a tall, black shadow standing there, highlighted by a flash of lightning. The newcomer was holding both the shutters open with thick, tensed arms.  
  
“I hope you all have a good explanation for this”, he said, and such a low voice, both rich and intimidating, could only mean one thing.  
  
McCree took a relieved breath and shook his head.  
  
“Gabe, it’s fine, no need to worry. Why…”  
  
Gabe closed the door and ran his fingers through his hair, spraying water droplets all around. He bowed lightly to the statue of Mara, but his unrelenting gaze went immediately to Genji.  
  
“You were nowher to be found. Not even Sombra - _Sombra_! - knew anything, so I went to check on your place”, and che pointed at McCree, “and you two were gone too! You can bet I was worried!”  
  
Hanzo took a step forward and bent his head.  
  
“I’m sorry, Gabriel. It was nothing planned, not even on Genji’s side, so please don’t be too hard on him. He was… er…”  
  
“Oh, please, your brother can speak for himself. He was blowing a priest inside the temple and - no, the other way ‘round”, he corrected himself after a serious glare, and Genji blushed to the tip of his ears. Zenyatta coughed in his fist, but McCree was sure there was a “Actually, the former” hidden somewhere in his voice.  
  
Gabe snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  
  
“I shouldn’t care that much, you’re all adults and free to do as you please, but the land is at war, and you, Hanzo, are a valuable prize for both parties involved. You got me pretty frightened here, and… no, wait”, he stopped, lookin at McCree with a frown. “I get what Genji was doing here, but what about you?”  
  
“Ah, funny you should ask”, McCree said, trying again not to laugh. His mouth trembled with the effort.  
  
“Actually, it was a bit of a surprise for us too, but…”  
  
Genji interrupted his brother and smiled like a loon, now utterly relieved not to be on the wrong side of Gabe’s reprimand anymore.  
  
“They’re getting married! Right now! Hanzo and Jesse, can you believe it?”  
  
And apparently, the answer was _no_ , because Gabe’s dark face went suddenly blank. His thick eyebrows descended upon his eyes and his jaws clenched.  
  
_He can’t say we shouldn’t. He won’t, and if he brings up his past with Jack as an argument against marriage in general I’m gonna fight him here and now_ , McCree thought, even if deep down all he craved was Gabe’s approval, and there was no real reason he should oppose to the wedding. Still, he shook slightly.  
  
Zenyatta took a deep breath and started a hurried speech on how a gesture of love in such dire times was a beacon of hope for the whole land, but Gabe silenced him with a flick of his hand.  
  
McCree huffed and prepared for yet another discussion, but Gabe shook his head. He was biting his lower lip, hard, and two deep lines appeared between his eyebrows.  
  
When he eventually opened his eyes, McCree stifled a gasp.  
  
Gabe’s eyes sparkled with tears and his lips stretched in a slow, shaky smile.  
  
Hanzo clung to McCree’s arm and sensibly relaxed against him.  
  
“It… looks like yer not mad at us?” McCree said weakily, and Gabe inhaled sharply through his nose.  
  
“I’m not, kid, I’m not - oh, my boys are getting married, I can’t believe it! No, no hugs now, you’ve got to tie the knot first”, he said with a trembling laughter when everyone but a serene Zenyatta, now taking his place behind the altar, moved to submerge him in affection.  
  
McCree could’ve cried. There was a world of affection on Gabe’s face, and he was very bad at hiding it.  
  
“If you’re ready, we should begin the ceremony - before Maramal or the others come here and ask me why there was a naked dunmer in my room”, Zenyatta muttered, and Genji giggled.  
  
“Ready as I can be”, McCree replied, and Hanzo smiled at him and nodded. They stood in front of the altar, with Genji behind Hanzo, and Gabe at McCree’s other side.  
  
_We’re doin’ it. Gettin’ married. Shit is gettin’ real._  
  
He rubbed his thumb on Hanzo’s knuckles and squared his shoulders.  
  
Crying, laughing, jumping around and screaming to the top of his lungs were all plausible options right now, but he owed Hanzo at least a decent ceremony, so he stood still and waited.  
  
Zenyatta spread his arms and smiled at the small gathering, his voice loud and clear under the thundering of rain above their heads.  
  
“It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children”, he said, solemn. Footsteps approached, and shocked gasps, some muffled yawn - all the priests were coming to check on the late commotion, but McCree didn’t turn to look at them. He kept his eyes on Zenyatta because, if he turned to Hanzo, he wouldn’t have resisted the temptation to take him in his arms.  
  
“It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all”. Zenyatta’s golden eyes moved briefly to Genji’s, and his serene face brightened. “We gather here today - more like tonight - under Mara’s loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship”.  
  
McCree peeked to his side, and at the corner of his eye Hanzo’s profile was lined in gold by the candles, his hair shining almost blue, his eyes big and serious - until he noticed he was being watched, and he subtly grinned at McCree, interlacing their fingers together.  
  
Zenyatta waited for them to return him their attention, then continued in his sweet voice.  
  
“May they journey forth together, in this life and the next”, and Hanzo stifled a giggle. One of the eldest priests hissed in outrage. “In prosperity and poverty”, and it was McCree’s time to bite his tongue not to laugh; Gabe subtly stomped on his foot. “In joy and hardship”.  
  
 _Of those, of both, we’ve had more than our share. I hope the former will prevail._  
  
“Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”  
  
McCree, startled at the direct question, blinked and looked around.  
  
“My turn? I… I do. Now and forever”, he said loudly, his voice cracking just a bit. Then he turned to Hanzo and got lost in his eyes - so big and full of love. He repeated it, and it was just for the two of them. Soft and low, a promise whispered to their hearts. “I do”.  
  
“And you”, Zenyatta said as if from a great distance, “do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”  
  
Hanzo replied immediately.  
  
“Oh, I do. Now and forever”, and he took McCree’s other hand.  
  
“And thus, under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed! Congratulations!”  
  
“May I kiss my husband or…”  
  
“I’m surprised you managed to wait until the end of the ceremony”, Genji said, and Hanzo stuck his tongue out to him.  
  
McCree was quick to capture his mouth.  
  
His lover, his partner, his husband.  
  
Gabe was weeping openly, and Genji, still shirtless, had developed springs under his feet because he couldn’t stop jumping around. Zenyatta was gingerly explaining to his seniors how his actions were nothing like defiance or blasphemy, and how the love they were celebrating clearly came from Mara’s light.  
  
McCree could barely ear them.  
  
Hanzo laughed breathlessly against his lips and curled against his chest.  
  
“Happy?” McCree asked, his words ruffling Hanzo's still damp hair.  
  
They were married. His knees felt weak and his head too light, but this new reality they had built for themselves was the most precious of treasures.  
  
“Take a guess”, Hanzo joked, kissing him again.  
  
And after all, after saving Skyrim and defeating the World Eater, this was the happy ending they deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here we are, at the end of another long journey. The longest for me, since I don't think I've ever written anything this lengthy before. I wanted to indulge in this setting a little longer to show what heroes do in their spare time - messing things up and getting married, apparently. Mercer Frey's home has two nicer owners, now. 
> 
> So, what's left to say? Thank you, again and again, because I didn't expect so much support from so many people, and having you on board made this trip twice as fun! See you soon for some more lethal nerds in love <3

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? Skyrim is one of my favorite things in the world, I'm weak for AUs and even weaker for anything McHanzo.  
> So hey! Welcome to another universe where our two murder goofballs fall in love once again.  
> More characters will appear in the next chapters, and DRAGONS! So many dragons. Who doesn't love some dragons?  
> So stay tuned for more bloodshed, parkour, ridiculously unlucky Jesse McCree and other shenanigans.  
> (Oh there's going to be some fanart on the side, so keep an eye out for that too) (Good shit, very good shit, let me tell u)
> 
> (The chapters are numbered in Dovah-Zul, because I'm lazy&edgy. And very sorry)


End file.
